I wince, and wonder at this evil;
Just who is arming fools with quills?
Your rhyme was amusing in ways,
But here's an end to Halcyon days:

You too, I see, live in the dream
(Induced by weed?); your own rhyme scheme
Shows the simplicity of you and yours
Who taunt Mhaldor from behind closed doors.
"We hate you, stay outside our gates!"
We laugh. How oft we penetrate
Your place! Of 'friendship' you know naught:
Allies are earned, not pampered, bought
With 'nice' words, hugs and pleasantries.
Speak up, from down there on bent knees!
Smoke less, my friend, lacking in wit;
You speak from where most people sit.

Again, I'll tread in your context,
So get comfy. You know what's next.
This verse shall thus return to sex.
'It's Ladies first'? And, inch by inch,
I 'fight to make the women flinch'?
Dear Halcyon... your small 'City'
Should learn to know their enemies!
Sweet hippy of Eleusis:
I'd say /you/ better know the bush
Than I! But as we're on prowess
I'll speculate that yours is less.
I see you have no daughters, sons.
I blame your limp man, Galdrion.

Will you reply in frenzied haste
E'en as you love the trees you waste?
You bid me practise what I preach:
I am right now: Besting the weak.
My Lords watch over me, They know
My firm devotion. Is your faith so?
My friend, the weedy, who scribes too quick,
I shall now end and 'shup up' (sic).

Penned by my hand on the 25th of Ero, in the year 401 AF.