Damsel

The morning speck of dew glimmers against red

As a flare rises in the east

Naught as royally sound

Could labor such polish

Her wings an iota of unity

As rich as fire

Her trunk, as wisp of delicate earth

Dainty and vulnerable

Yet an armor guards what rest beneath

And not anythuing can breach her gate

Without red of their own

She sits awaiting her knight

To pluck her from her chains

And voice her

As thine's own fair rose a fancy.