Honestly, the care is none
So you should've stopped before you had begun
I write poetry on a whim
For no reason, on a joke from within
Perhaps you care not for my words
Though I care not for what you say
I was being a little sarcastic
Though that is my way

So how about you shut your mouth
And keep your comments to yourself
I'll write what I wish, how I wish
No matter your opinion of my work

And my chances are quite good
For I've been run over by two
Or three, if you count figurtively

Yes, I hold love for Cyrene
A fondness and longing for its serenity
But, that was not an appeal
So your tounge should heel

My only wish is that it is safe
That the tides of war and disasters do not partake
In the future of the lovely little place
Of solace and peace.

--Charan Windsong
I will regret this later...


Penned by my hand on the 21st of Glacian, in the year 464 AF.