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 forever, an eye and beak together.

In those jet brown eyes, a thought is brewing not lies,

She is out on endeavor, though might not be clever.

Three blocks of ice, some milk and some spice,

Two shots of espresso, a hurricane no less-oh,

Soaring crane so precise, unpredictable as a dice.

Two forces colide, for fate to decide,

Euruption of Volcano, Spiral of Tornado

A dance between Yin and Yang, that of Fin and Fang.

An element of transmutation, A Jewler's creation,

Mediates between the heart and the mind, sharp be thy knife

Unclouded palm of a salvation, helps change crane's location

Born with winds beneath her wings,

Crane soars through storms, as cold waves unfold,

Burgundy ring's, force flows and sings.

Verse 1: The Wave

Verse 2: Glimpses of Pink

Verse 3: Burgundy Ring in Storm

Verse 4: Following upward a feather.

Verse 5: The Crane

Verse 6: Crane and the Wave

Verse 7: The Ring and the Power

Verse 8: The Crane and the Wave and the Ring