A sentry stands atop the walls,
Watching while the city falls,
Blades were bared, blood was let,
And from the sentry nothing yet.

The foes were bested, city clear
Repeats again another year.
Professing duty always shirked,
He claims the labors never worked.

A rally called, a purpose found,
Now the sentry turns around-
For the boards did rush to battle,
Endless stream of fuss and prattle.

To muddle purpose, passion quell,
Drowned in ink his parchment fell-
Defending naught but doing naught,
Any change against he fought.

When the ayes by fuss drowned out,
Our feckless sentry turned about,
To shine his title held unearned,
Proud of all the progress spurned.

When again the heart did beat,
So again did watch-goat bleat,
Yet well of ink was not enough,
Patiently did wave rebuff.

Time and more the insults flew,
Across the boards did sentry spew,
Yet again the sea would bide,
Sparing fool the wrathful tide.

Third time the charm, to get his way,
Louder still came empty bray.
Invoking hidden, nameless frets,
Yet only pity votes he gets.

Unmasked as empty, substanceless,
Save for bile and bitterness-
His grand defeat not from the Sea,
But by the man he proved to be.

Penned by my hand on the 12th of Glacian, in the year 996 AF.