I am a Wordsmith

Hark! And hear me, young of voice,

You naive workers of patois,

Those who seek to now belong,

Among the halls of sons of song.

We are the Wordsmiths, the shapers of sound!

The graces of language our brothers expound!

An offering I grant, a final chance

To heed admonition before you advance.

For through these lungs flow fierce, hot ire,

Minds set ‘blaze by tongues of fire,

Fields set razed by spoken name,

Breaths besetting Babel’s bane,

Ceaseless Storms and Towering Tides

Cast out on worms with curses cried,

Lightning wit, Thunderous applaud,

And wise men worn by Word of God

Retire now you will-less weak

With feeble lips unfit to speak

For fools clasp naught these final warnings

Condemned by Thoth to usher mournings.

But those among you straight of heart

I shall relinquish to this Art

To be made literate, succeeding growth

To honor long our solemn oath:

Hark! The Sages of Sacred Speech

The Blessings of Word we know Beseech

Movers of Men are Movers of Jaw

For I am a Wordsmith, and my tongue is law.

- Gaston