In want of a letter, the mount now must mourn
The lives of brave soldiers precipitately torn
From the arms of heart's sworn or dear family born
Re-funds for ink to the lord of the morn

Trade a few letters and Cyrene'd be serene
Not shoulder to shoulder with entities and fiends
Waiting to feed for when the coasts clean
Clear on their role in this orchestrated scene

Cuz you lose enough letters, an imperiates an imp
Locked up in their tower while around it you limp
Grasping for any grip on this odious trip
Unsure of new allies and the forces you tempt

Lacking a letter, Blonk became Bonk
A hammer in the hands of a city in shock
Swung against shlok and shopkeeps in frocks
When you find the "L" left, please, return it to B(l)onk

Penned by my hand on the 11th of Ero, in the year 953 AF.