I developed a crush on a fashionable girl.
She lives near the swamp, of all places.
Far from the crush of the crowds in Cyrene,
With its mountain-high fashions and faces.

She crafts all the items she sells in her shop
With stitching so fine and so fetching,
I'm catching a mild case of infatuation.
A smile so infectious - I can't seem to stop.

From the bell-tower's top to Onorel's tents,
The people of Xhaiden can't make any sense
Of this little disorganized seamstress' skill
At stripping a croc with a nick and a scrape.

So, I fetch her swamp leather to shape
Into couture that's rugged and haute.
I'm out of my mind  so I drafted a note:

You read what is written on an elegant white letter:
Energetic artisan
Radiant cuteness
In supple leather
Crazy 'bout crocodiles
Amazing boots!

Will she be mine? Time only will tell.
If she won't, I'll give up and join the Obele.

Penned by my hand on the 24th of Glacian, in the year 851 AF.