Fergil, the Goose farmer who resides south of the Village of Gorshire,
was heard to remark - in a frenzy of weeping, hair-tearing, and fitful
song:

Hear me Gods as my heart ruptures!
Pouring out, my soul's lament
Upon deaf ears may fall unheeded.
Will my sorrow be misspent?

With grasping claws did they capture,
Tear, and claw at graceful necks.
Feathers flying in fearful flurry!
I wring my hands, my pride a wreck
Of jostled nerves and wasted hopes.
To me no saviour yet has come
To rid the fields of vagrant weasels.
Will my pretties e'er fly home?

Such talent you would not believe!
My geese: the finest ever laid,
Beautiful and acrobatic.
Many are the nights we played
Upon the straw-strewn corral floor
Making pyramids in pose.
Quick my hand, to sketch the vision
Finer poultry no one knows.

Even the fragrance has become
A heady potion to my soul.
The squawking, naught but music
To my ears; a trumpet call!
Now their feathers line the dens
Of lithe and evil murderers.
The fallen fowl have fallen afoul
For want of brave adventurers.

Hear me Gods as my heart ruptures!
Pouring out, my soul's lament
Upon deaf ears may fall unheeded.
Will my sorrow be misspent?



Penned by my hand on the 9th of Ero, in the year 394 AF.