To Whom It May Concern:



Scraping sycophants one and all,
How brave are you to stand, now tall!
Where we salute, you lick a boot,
and sink to dreams lacking wherewithal.

?Too bloody!? you whine and cry,
?Barbaric, uncouth!? the words you ply!
Accused we, of hubris' disillusion,
While you flock like chickens to unify!

Afraid now of a little game,
You toss your fingers, pointing blame.
What humor to be had in this!
The beaten donkey, bitter and lame!


Love,
Malcanthet

Penned by my hand on Kinsday, the 25th of Midsummer, in the year 465 MA.