[i]Somewhere on the Summit[/i]

Once tales were told,
in days of old,
of ranges wreathed in glinting gold,
when Man was rich as he was bold,
and sights were something to behold—

On peril's peak, they seeked the prize
that brought about the brief demise
of all who'd followed to the rise:
the gold and gems of monstrous size—

And somewhere on the summit lies
a sleeping serpent of the skies—

A storm struck then,
with rage and yen,
a screaming keen beyond their ken—
that led a thousand lesser men
into the earth—
a dragon's den—

And in those depths, they found reprise—
they waited long—
they lost supplies—
until the darkness took their eyes,
and gave them greed—
and changed their guise—

And somewhere on the summit lies
a dreaming drake that never dies—

And so they said,
those men were dead,
and something sprung up in their stead:
a creature clad in scales of red—
a scaly kind the dragons bred—

Now mothers warn, [i]"Avoid the Highs—[/i]
[i]and listen closely for their cries—[/i]
[i]the Kobolds may be small in size,[/i]
[i]but they eat men like men eat pies."[/i]

And somewhere on the summit lies
a wasting wyrm both wan and wise.