Mother dearest of mine
I find it ironic, do you?
To sip over this joke with fine wine
That would please me too

How its happened again
Not do I ask how or when
You've disowned me for a lover
And this time, another

But funny I think
That not a year has gone
And you've given up that stink
Ha! I am never wrong

So my message to you, dear mother
Love with you shall never last
Go off with another lover
It will surely pass

Blood is thicker than this
Your fooling with your 'mistress'
So how I must laugh at you
For you're too misguided, it's sadly true.


Penned by my hand on the 12th of Miraman, in the year 469 AF.