Prophet

Perhaps you should consider
The woman who still bears your name
Instead of chasing a fallen priestess
And bringing your poor wife shame

In truth, your hasty words
Invoke little anger or hate
For clearly, your crazed state
Makes you forget even the date

Seventy years have passed
Since that foolish mistake of mine
Perhaps you should take it from me
And leave that old memory behind

Pity, for now, is all I can feel
For your hasty proposal announced
Where once you had fire and zeal
Now your own you even renounce

Go home, Prophet, take a seat,
Clutch your tequila, consider a time,
Take a break from the desert's heat,
Reflect upon your drunken grime

Now, if you will pardon me,
There's much yet still to do,
For I've my own wedding to prepare
Instead of spending effort on you.

Penned by my hand on the 22nd of Lupar, in the year 664 AF.