Flames leap on the grill,

Swiftly quenched by the drill.

Water surges from the tub,

Both calm and fierce,

Grumbling, squeezing, charging still,

To meet the red and restless devil near.

To those who grow, she softly brings her grace—

A gentle touch, salvation’s sweet embrace.

But to those who spoil, her hands turn to blades,

Piercing the sinner, through darkened stains,

With fatal strikes, the sinner fades.

Alas, the fire, that fierce destroyer’s name—

No chance for pardon, only sighs remain.

Fire once boiled water, bold and sure,

But did he dream one day,

By the eternal foe, he’d be cured?

Alas, with water comes all life’s birth—

Indeed, she is the source of earth,

The queen without a crown.

“Principium de Precipuus,” so true,

The root of all, both old and new.