The Siberian Dragon

Lives in frozen wastelands, far from human eyes;
His home in caves of ice, ancient, ancient caves.
To eat, he breathes on the ice with his fiery breath,
And dives through to the icy sea, catching fish
The likes of which we have never seen. He aches
For company, but his last mate died over a
Thousand years ago. He's learnt to be alone,
Learnt how to make the wind and ice and sea
His friends. His huge heart beats and beats,
Slowly counting out the moments of his life,
Century after century. Sometimes, he wheels up
High in the air, keeping pace with migrating birds.
They hurry in fear away from his huge shadow, and
On to the safety of their winter lands. At the
Back of his cave, a solitary egg. He's been
Sitting on the egg for hundreds of years. In his
Heart, he knows its cold. Still, he cannot bring
Himself to roll it out of the cave, and down, to the
Hole in the ice. He sits, pointlessly. He sits,
Patiently.
He sits and hopes.