Scaly monarch with a deadly glance, turns all to stone in a chilling dance. Crowned with feathers, tales surround, the serpent king where legends are found.

In fire I fall, in ash I sleep, yet death itself I do not keep. From cinders cold my wings are spun, what am I, the deathless one?

A silent guardian of the park, offering rest beneath the shade, where stories meet and secrets fade.

Proud to be called A word like bald I fly, but am not a duck And appear on a buck

High or low, to be at the mercy of the moon