Wrath

She is a soft spoken quick wit,

With fear behind her gaze,

And if you dare provoke it, 

You should beware its scarlet haze.

Her tongue is sharp like razor blades,

Strikes quicker than an asp,

And when her quiet stillness fades,

Her voice begins to rasp;

When her violence first overflows,

Pray to God you're far,

For she's caused countless overthrows,

Set fires through pitch and tar.

The rage all through your crimson veins,

As fear succumbs to flame,

That's her vermillion influence,

Which all must learn to tame.