"A Poem For Our Most Dearest, Joseppi"

[LuneAria 169]

A cool breeze sweeps through Johannesburg on the 21st of the First Seed. A very strange occurrence was to meet anyone who happened to have taken a stroll on such a day, however. For the soft winds would have seem to have born possibly dozens of papers.

 

Some of these may have hit the wall, however others would continue their steady course over the walls and eventually into the many streets of the city. The putrid air of the forgotten corners of the city was also adrift in the winds, preparing the reader of the papers of what was to come.

 

In delicate handwriting, an epic was crafted onto the parchment.

 

Our dear Joseppi

How modest and fair.

Our dear Joseppi 

Went to heaven in the air

 

Yet he struggled so hard

'I can't fit my fat into GOD's yard!'

And thus he grinned, realizing his hunger needed further sate

His girth a cannon ball to earth, at this rate

 

'I'll eat some pheasants!"

'Or wait, is that a peasant?'

'I'll gnash on his bones!'

'This man's honor, I'll disown!'

 

'Shall we kill him sir?' The soldier cries

'Nae, for that is Joseppi, in his Hallow's Seed disguise.'

'But sir, he'll maul us and burn our homes!'

'Nae, for it is our beloved, come out of his tome.'

 

And so streets ran red

Mutilated flesh, decapitated heads

Who can stop him? Who dare try?

If you kill him, on the criminal's pyre you'll die.

 

For what is a graven, 

but a noble who dies a craven?

And what is a common man?

Nothing but the Emperor's rusty pan.

 

 

Fear Joseppi

Fear our 'beloved'

Board your homes

Hide your children

 

Our dear Joseppi

'The greatest of us all.'

Our dear Joseppi

How the mighty do fall.

 

The poem would have no signature. Any outraged cries would fall on deaf ears, as, somewhere, an elf sneers.

[Man of Respect 5471]

eath'lUR cries

[Dohvi 622]

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