O lords of quarrel, O warriors of conflict,
Might I inquire, with due respect:
Why must you block the road?

You raise your walls across highways
And lay barricades in spite and craze,
So none may pass and all are slowed.

For the other side: A dreadful scene unfolds.
A plight most dire - OH, I CRY at tale retold!
For there lies a dying goose at crossroads!

She needs a healer, herbs or even wine!
If none may pass, then her fate is enshrined
A gooses end - in casket sowed.

Then there is a baker, flour stained
Who clutches dough with eyes in pain
--If I take too long, my bread will erode!

Then - OHHH SHOCK HORROR - A jester!
For if they do not reach the CIJ to pester,
Then they must must mime, and OOOOH, jokes will corrode!

Oh warriors fierce! I see your strife, I do!
But move the fight or DOOOOOOOM ensues!

Penned by my hand on the 9th of Phaestian, in the year 969 AF.