15 June 2012
Hanging low and close to the ground, Perceived only by a passing hound, A shimmering soul lingers in the mist, Not in substance or mass, but still it exists, His roar no longer heard in the world, But between dimensions it does swirl, Guarding over the rocks and trees, Giving lift to laden-down honeybees.
Just as his brother roams the mountains, This old ghost heals the woods with fountains, Allowing water to flow and sparkle, Leading life on its continual cycle.
His growl is the wind, As he forgives those that have sinned, His tail keeps short the grass, Allowing even the smallest doe to pass, Don't forget as you walk on through the trees, Just to tip your hat in thanks, keeping an old ghost appeased.
[Another reply for @MrAlex]
Ghost Of A Forest Dragon • Opuss № I