• ‘tis the time orange and blue entwine
    Each color extraordinary and divine.
    He’s intermixed with it all in a stride,
    Holding his head up to nothing less than pride
    At times he come to a holt
    Yet he’s always wary to bolt

    His great white branches raise up to the sky,
    As if always holding onto a cry.
    Like hands they stretch and twist,
    Equally as threatening as a mighty fist.
    With each challenge he’s ready to strike,
    Or even take flight.

    With a creature that could be so easily be vexed,
    Who would dare to contested?
    A raise and a stomp of a hoof, he makes a pound,
    Moving grass clean from the ground.
    A high pitched cry flowed out in one pulse,
    And from the pain he’s skin made one convulse.

    After the initial crackle and thunder,
    His strength is suddenly gone in a plunder.
    Falling to the earth with a snap and a break,
    The once proud creature was reduced to a quake.
    With the upcoming night like the cold hands of death,
    The noble crowned king takes one last breath.