Ode To Ninja

A heart of stone in skin of bark,
A bleeding flower in the dark.
Its secret bound by key and lock,
It spills its life unto the rock.

Hues of scarlet, black and white,
Watch your kin with eyes so bright.
Not weasel by nature, but weasel by name,
Don't want to play the heart-blade game.

His hatred boils, his pinwheel sharp,
Flowing moves, swift as a carp.
Bittersweet, his progress is,
But one's flames are bright as his.

For now, I can do naught but gaze,
Proudly through a misty haze.
The door that little raven knocks,
Is one of scarecrow, flower and fox.