My last poem was lame
But all the same...
Isn't Achaea just a game?

Heh. That was even lamer.

Greetings my friend.
Are you waiting for the end?
Why don't you send
A letter to me?
I'm not a flea
Or a bee
So why won't you talk to me?

I saw a potato late one day
Brown and flayed I say
I picked it up
And a monk entered and said "Sup?"
I replied with a grunt
The monk was back-to-front
He wasn't talking to me
He was talking to his pet flea

Penned by my hand on the 10th of Mayan, in the year 320 AF.