Misty the Imprechaun thinks she's so great,
with that fake race and background she made.
Her speaking skills are lacking.
Her mouth needs a smacking,
and then maybe she'll go away.

When I see her name up in the skies,
I wish to Varian that she would just die.
Her blood would freely flow,
because you reep what you sow.
She makes me want to rip out my eyes.

Her attitude leaves something for me to desire.
Maturity and intelligence to lift her a bit higher.
But she calls people names,
and plays her little games,
of placing the blame on those that are around her.

Penned by my hand on the 21st of Haernos, in the year 136 MA.