I wish you lady, not to judge,
It makes your skin less fair.
For what you know, and what you say,
Are seldomn ever there.

Sometimes, I just wonder,
Miss Starrsong, have no fear,
For what you try to tell to me,
I really just can't hear.

You say that I should weave the stars,
When you yourself can't do,
The very thing you ask of me,
The thing you tell me to.

Now, what should be the better path?
Of these that I have sown,
The one where all will get along,
The one inside this poem.

So keep along, there lovely dear,
And just work on your rhymes,
The meter's off, and so's the beats,
Just a hint next time.

Penned by my hand on the 21st of Chronos, in the year 400 AF.