Waking from a weary slumber, you have much to do
Piles of letters, lists of messages, news to skip past too
But there is a moment of excitement, a brief and fleeting thrill
At least a dozen messages, when you expected nil,
Quickly you read over them, don't want to be delayed
But each and every one of them just says your stuff decayed

Penned by my hand on the 4th of Scarlatan, in the year 1004 AF.