A poem about: His long straight white hair, emerald green eyes, wearing sapphire blue, Clovis Biron was his name, dauntless, formidable, strong, agile, hooded cloak, sword dancing through the night air, lopping off heads and piercing black hearts thrusting severing tearing their skin color alabaster and some ashen long fangs claws eyes like pools of crimson with a black moon at the center false vitae blood dark red and blood of obsidian hue his blade never tires view night some young some ancient monsters abominations beast they all are fangs claws soulless beings, the town of Emerlet, mist, moon, stars, wind, death, their fangs, spittle, eternal hunger, claws,

His long straight white hair, emerald green eyes, wearing sapphire blue, Clovis Biron was his name, dauntless, formidable, strong, agile, hooded cloak, sword dancing through the night air, lopping off heads and piercing black hearts thrusting severing tearing their skin color alabaster and some ashen long fangs claws eyes like pools of crimson with a black moon at the center false vitae blood dark red and blood of obsidian hue his blade never tires view night some young some ancient monsters abominations beast they all are fangs claws soulless beings, the town of Emerlet, mist, moon, stars, wind, death, their fangs, spittle, eternal hunger, claws,

In Emerlet, where shadows weave,
A legend whispers through the eaves,
Clovis Biron, with eyes of green,
Wearing sapphire, fierce and keen.

His long, straight hair as white as snow,
In moon's soft glow, it seems to grow.
A hooded cloak around him flows,
A sword in hand that time bestows.

Through mist and star, his dance begins,
Against alabaster, ashen skins,
His blade a blur in midnight's breath,
An artist painting forms of death.

Fangs and claws, soulless and dire,
Fall to his relentless fire,
Their vile blood, both red and black,
Drips as he drives the monsters back.

The town of Emerlet sleeps tight,
While Clovis guards it through the night.
The wind whispers his dauntless fame,
For Clovis Biron was his name.

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In Emerlet, where shadows weave, A legend whispers through the eaves, Clovis Biron, with eyes of green, Wearing sapphire, fierce and keen. His long, straight hair as white as snow, In moon's soft glow, it seems to grow. A hooded cloak around him flows, A sword in hand that time bestows. Through mist and star, his dance begins, Against alabaster, ashen skins, His blade a blur in midnight's breath, An artist painting forms of death. Fangs and claws, soulless and dire, Fall to his relentless fire, Their vile blood, both red and black, Drips as he drives the monsters back. The town of Emerlet sleeps tight, While Clovis guards it through the night. The wind whispers his dauntless fame, For Clovis Biron was his name.