Wise leave room
staggering and struck
even animals sense doom

No sympathy for the sychophant
who feels need to bleed
the naive, the innocent

Many times, dived and ducked
knickers bunched, fume
That last skin shucked

Four Sticks in hand
two for the show, two for throw
sand-dusted tan, walking the land

It's been long spent
all needed, left heeded
Leave it clean, not fluent
Life weaved and already seeded

Penned by my hand on the 18th of Scarlatan, in the year 596 AF.