Oh tip of white I see you, your ivory teeth to bleed true.
A flick of tale, your fangs impale,
to insure to Kelsys that many never leave you.

Oh mighty fish of swords, your snout is here to score.
For with its point you gore, in creation of a crimson murky hew.
A room full of mist; thunder, crackle, hiss.
Oh so what could be this, a room down below?

In rhythm I sing this tune, in key with the lapping soothe,
of water alit in blue, from a glassy path of orbs.
For this view it tis so sweet, to stand with sandy feet,
in a cavern that is so deep. Content my soul... subdued.

Penned by my hand on the 12th of Lanosian, in the year 163 MA.