I can hear each note you warbled
Curated only for my ears
My cobalt herald
In the hail, obstinate,
In the mulch, panting,
In my voice, echo
In a
Tu-a-wee

I imagine the remains
Your weavings s
Fraying
If I reach, my fin
Graze your parasol
Above, to hold
Don't
tu-a-wee

i can't even grasp
without your
do you think
we will
only we
two
only
tu-

Penned by my hand on the 6th of Ero, in the year 878 AF.