I heard your procedure was unsuccessful,
the doctor baffled at the rate
of your unborn gazelle's growth
and your raw, emotional state.

The nurses have been whispering
about the way its horns poked through,
and how you howled in unison
as he cut his way out of you.

They say he has eyes of blood
and long black fur like a llama.
It's too bad he trotted away
not even acknowledging his mama!

He hopped a ship in Shastaan
and his neighing was heard abroad
when he slaughtered the crew and captain.
Oh, new mommy! Your kid's so flawed!

He kidnapped a Mysian pirate lass,
and tied her to the nest on high.
He'd climbed the mast every day or so
just to make her cry.

He left her on a beachfront
like some sort of broken, porcelain doll.
But not before knocking her up, grandma.
His deeds spread such appall.

He's a blight upon the continents,
a scourage upon the seas.
And all because YOU got drunk
and then fell onto your knees!

I heard the disease spreading,
all the way from the Isle of Prin,
may be your son's doing too,
and it really does sound like him!

His hate of scales and wings, I mean --
He doesn't even like his own mum!
It all fits together now. Just like dad,
he's a xenophobic bum!

I hope you never drink again.
I hope you never thirst
for that evil Brass Lantern gazelle
and make your family worse!


Penned by my hand on the 11th of Valnuary, in the year 608 AF.