What is that I observe
My time away has not been so long
I find it insulting, absurd
Perhaps I am wrong?
Though it seems that I am correct
What I have seen is no illusion
Even though away from poetry I have trekked
I have come to a saddening conclusion

What's this I see
Here, what trechery!
Not many a words around to be read
For my eyes now lack sight, they have not been fed
The whipping rage, a fiery rage!
Ah, the roaring, mouth closed, is caged

People have not written
Yet what they write, I am smitten
Deeply so, alas
This heart shatters like a rose of glass
And now I write of such odd woes

What's this, I say
And be as odd as it may
It finally comes to a close
What's this oddity
That happens when I'm away?
Do they sleep?



Penned by my hand on the 22nd of Ero, in the year 470 AF.