When you first saw me you called me a
teller of stories
ironic for my bardic rank was conferred but for an essay

Pen in hand, candle burning as darkness fades to morning
my only way of focusing on stories is
to write arrhythmic poem
with rhythm in its lack, as all good prose can be

Tasked me with your tale, when stories are my weakest genre
yet given at the same time a writer losing hope
losing confidence in his craft
can have everything turned right around by one request
by one person who can say
I trust you to tell my story.

What goddesses cloud, I must illuminate--
should've talked to Averroes about fragmented symbols--
when waking dreams encroach on peaceful life
and dreams and sleep
my task becomes so clear
and I'm struck and write and write

Yet as the sun greets my efforts
I see that the cuff's children, born off
cannot suffice from my first story's try
not their fault, rather my own:
I can make a poem with greatest ease
like this and not think twice

but stories--I am no natural storyteller

Teller of stories: some construe that syntax to mean
one who tells lies, depending on which language you speak--
Mhun or Grook, Horkval--depends--

a lie would be to say I am no storyteller
and I hope your tale will be the sweeter for my efforts.
I choose no sleep. I owed your tale a week ago. I will
bring it to its close.

--Griffy

Penned by my hand on the 9th of Scarlatan, in the year 281 AF.