a tiny little poem 4 nightmare night

She came clad in blue attire,
The air seemed to have grown cold.
Claiming to be youngest child of the sire,

Her stance was bold.
With eyes raging fire.
Just as it was foretold,
As if she rose from dark fire,
Her stature was almost twofold,
None know what would transpire.

Her voice was one to behold,
loud as cannon fire.
She, a corrupt harrold.
Her eyes, may be blue afire,
Yet her fur was of midnight bold,
She was grim and in dire,
For she is the fool that sold,
Her mind to desire.

Hi everyone. Had some free time and decided to write a short poem dedicated to nightmare moon. don't know what I'm going to call it but it's gonna probably show up in my story some time. Anyway, what are your thoughts on it?