If "Shaman" was your woolly mammoth,
A noble steed of a size behemoth,
While left unattended in the Tundra
I sort of tore him all asunder.

"Probe before you hit," I strongly say
To every bardlet that comes my way.
But while I was hunting for myself
Those rules went dusty on the shelf.

With acrobatics I began to leap and caper
As I jabbed and stabbed with my rapier.
After I probed the corpse on the ground
My poor Atavian heart, it started to pound.

My palms went sweaty, I knew I was in trouble
and high-tailed it to the news on the double.
I meant to choose public but lacking the gold,
Poetry is where my sad tale had to be told.

I'm very sorry to you, whoever you are.
It's not my intention to start any war.
Message me if you owned this wonderful beast
And I'll try to make amends for the deceased.

Sincerely,
Madelyne Fol'ia


Penned by my hand on the 6th of Valnuary, in the year 487 AF.