A battle, state and inconvenient,  A battle fought so acute in pride.  A curse or rather plague, a fever,  Nailed me to the fireside.    At a crackling wood's spark flight to the skies,  The tempest king, he claims the throne.  But halts in stride as equal legions  Melt into the leader's tone.     An elder king arose  From blood soaked fallow battlefields  With orders calm at urgent voice  And reasoning as iron shields.    And dreadful words it were  As he spoke of abandonment  Thus I shivered as the Tempest,  As his fever came upon my hand.   Then swords were risen by the brave  As for me I rose a twig towards the skies.    And no one would withdraw   One's eyes were as the fiend's.  All men in flames and zeal.  As ire filled to burdening air.    While two in brawl for the throne  A third with grins on stainless cheeks  In bushes watching in conceal  Delighted of the bleak.    At sudden startled, Dismay had dropped my twig  I turned down the fireside  And the last sparks of the night  Lit the my paths with golden wings  Sensing me and my Three Neuron Kings