An Overseer brings Ends to so many leaves
Of precious pulp paper given over to screeds
No scholar or layman ever bothers to read
His endless word-vomits filling only his need

To lend voice to frustration, to air out his peeves
Void of sense, wit, persuasion but he gives no reprieve
It's a wonder Ashtani are allowed under the eaves
Of the Ithmian savages; won't those folks save the trees?

Penned by my hand on the 21st of Valnuary, in the year 966 AF.