Deep runs the quagmire, under the steamy fen.
Steadily bubbling, malevonant reek.
No soul can survive, it is past our ken.
The loss is complete, all folded and meek.
But Wait! What is it that yonder appears,
All covered in mud and mired in deep?
It breaches the surface and grows as it nears.
What is this creature, our wonder does keep?
The sun up on high, the veil does not dwell;
This wonderful sight that brightens the field.
This little one, cub, has escaped its cell,
And the joy of the watcher is now sealed.
It rises from deep, it cracks and it spreads.
It always brings joy, will always turn heads.