Upon Thine Coming-of-Age Ring be...

This is a yarn in poetic format. I hope you enjoy.

The Winged praises herself almost as much as the Fire-Eater appraises his looks, his wealth.
He wistfully dreams, and pensively seems, like he is a part of his own garnet ring.
Funnily enough, he once misled a grizzly bear. Presently, the animal thinks misappropriating picnics is fair.

The fairy-tale anecdote is what the duo wishes to be abridged and abbreviated. Incompatible are the three, but, none the wiser, they collaborate.

The Angel, the Dragon, united inside the boy - which is presumably why they giggle, acting coy -,  
the two gave advice: "Don't look a splintery gift horse in its mouth, Ms. Helen of Troy."
Upon the rings wraith-like, metaphysical band are engraved two ironically iconic symbols,
symbols able to place lesser heads in greater thimbles. The two's ire rise as they wish to feel, and as they, instead, ride the Massachusetts chill.

Impromptu, red-raging, blues-filled smiles are breathed across the borders of the brethren's beguilingly beautiful bodies and faces.

F. E., Mr. Iron, smells the truth and solves the case; with drool on his chin, his heart will frantically race.
The redwood's rapids are reviled, melancholy and eerie. They instructed the Serpent to fear only thee. The Holy's death is what oceans and the pale Horsemen foresees.
Upon their ring as he reaches pass the oblivion brink, upon his ring, the Fire-Eater moans, and The Winged drinks.