A primal roar, untouched by core,
In turmoil and chaos, it flourish and savors,
A wave of a storm, cruel and sore.
A splash of pink, then out of sight,
Dense fog obscuring gaze, eternal grays
All else would sink, burgundy light remains.
On tip of a feather, not fur neither leather,
A metal might be, shines more than a key,
Ring made of heather, on white wing it tether.
Upward a sleeve of foreve...
