Nothing is-yet I exist,
Like those that hide behind the mist.
Death-it knoweth me not,
While those beneath me do rot.
Some do bid me haste,
While others-I they do waste.
And so now-and forever,
Do to yourself this one favor.
Bid me-pass you by,
So your life-I must not pacify.
Signed,
Teyar Forestwalker

Penned by my hand on the 19th of Slyphian, in the year 62 MA.