"Orange, red, and deep violet hues--
Split across the sky once blue,
There be dragons behind the western clouds,
Each sleek and powerful and ferrociously proud.
Their breath is filled with heat and flames,
Each will to the skies stake his own claim.
Their soundless cries fill the early nights,
Noiselessly hearkening the dying of the light."
With that the old pagan ended his tale,
And the materialist began his own description.
"It's beautiful to behold without your mythologies,
These legends are silly and false as astrology,
'Tis not but simple photon scatters,
Not magical but simply interactions of matter,
Long since Lord Rayleigh's theory explains,
That the reason for these colors is too plain:
They result from light absorption by molecules,
Not a war between dragons most cruel."
As he finished, the materialist sat back smugly,
And regarded his companions with some derision.
"The charm and wonder your descriptions each confide,
I find that I cannot in justice deride,
Both contain certain sublime truths,
One efficient, one more fantastic in sooth,
But nature's very law to us shows
A deeper truth which the laws foreshadow:
A battle once fought and again at the end of all things,
Captured by our pagan friends mythic imagining."
So spoke the kindly mystic in his turn,
Though he too was dismissed with deprecation.