To bestir the prurience of being needed
A wish in foiled cause
Falling in heart's darkness
Assuming the identity beneath hands
of a greater distress
That pull so rich in strength
That push so deep in emotion
Will the extent of sorrow ever cease?
Or does the absence remain still
so abundantly expressing its prurience?

Penned by my hand on the 22nd of Slyphian, in the year 70 MA.