Crimson cloud devoid of light,
Drifting shadow in the night,
Sacred soldier of the right,
Heart and blade prepared to fight.
Carmine ripples in the flight,
Darkness fueled by noble plight,
Saved the grief of pain or fright,
One less remnant of this blight.
Scarlet rain on fields of white,
Painted canvas glowing bright,
Ascending through this ancient rite,
No more a simple acolyte.

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