Dearest Rowena, a poem....

That man is wisest who accepteth his lot
Yet mends it where he can glad if there grows
Some lowly flower beside his lonely cot,
E'en while he plants and tends his Twilight rose

There are thirsty souls all sick and faint
With longing for the cup that is denied.
Would they but stoop and drink, without complaint,
From the, near stream, and so be satisfied.

There are some hungry hearts that well nigh break
With the dull soreness of' mere emptiness.
To fill the void and sooth the weary ache
Let them but strive some other hearts to bless

There are some idle hands that reach afar
For wilder mission, some great work of fame.
Would they but grapple life's daily war,
Reward awaits them, nobler than a name.

Dearest Rowena, accept the Despair, accept the Truth. Achieve your
desire through the means possible.

Acolyte of Corruption,
Eilanis Ph'dylil

Penned by my hand on the 23rd of Khepary, in the year 171 MA.