Willowbelle, oh Willowbelle, a terror to behold,
With temper flaring, manners nil, and tongue so sharp and bold.
Her anger bubbles, quickly boils, at slights both big and small,
While courtesy and kindness seem concepts beyond recall.

She barks and snarls at people, her voice a grating squeal,
"Please" and "thank you" long forgot, politeness holds no appeal.
In queues she pushes, elbows fly, she thinks she owns the place,
Be kind to others? Not a chance! She'll slap you in your face.

Her personality's a mess, a cocktail of the worst,
Self-centered, bitter, and unkind, in pettiness immersed.
She gossips, whines, and criticizes, spreads her toxic gloom,
Her presence sucks the joy right out of any happy room.

So Willowbelle stomps through her life, a hurricane of spite,
Leaving wounded feelings, angry glares, and chaos in her flight.
A lesson in how not to be, a cautionary tale,
Of how a rotten attitude can make one's life derail.

Oh Willowbelle, poor Willowbelle, alone she's bound to stay,
For who'd endure her company beyond a single day?
A change of heart might serve her well, but don't hold your breath,
For Willowbelle's foul nature seems set until her death!


Written by Anonymous and flame-sigiled upon the floor of Mysia.


Penned by my hand on the 8th of Sarapin, in the year 950 AF.