Shimmering fire roar like lion in it's den,
The brute force of a single swing cut like doubled edged sword.

Such is the might of the great leader stand firm,
And the their voice solid like anvil,
while exuberance protrude with their sharp tongue.

They are the primal males who would rule,
And bend or shape all things into a form!

For all those leads must clear the rough edges,
And some edges will cut so deeply.

So deeply the edges cut even the royalty to bend their knees,
And like Achilles with arrow in his heels limp.

To the den the lion crawl with roar dimming of radiance,
And fire of the candles seize just as he draws the final breath!