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My brother, Skarl, he's quite the oaf,
Eating meats and devouring the loaf.
His disgusting ways I willingly scoff,
At least we sip, whilst he does quaff!

Brightvale is the most scholarly land,
Verdant fields and castles most grand.
Where literacy flows mostly unbound,
With fresh knowledge constantly found.

But Meridell, I do find quite dreadful,
For it to change is a thought, but wistful.
Conditions are poor, citizens are taxed,
Not just by work, but payments made waxed!

Skarl, you fool, why do you do so?
Until your subjects are as bent as a willow?
To work in the fields, like the peasants they are,
Until they are taxed immensely - bizarre!

At least in Brightvale, our peasants are treated
With respect, and dignity left unblighted.
They have food for their table, drink as well,
With books to devour, for the mind to swell.

Yet in Meridell, the peasants are poor,
Farming a land that was probably moor.
They work tirelessly at day, go hungry at night,
Those poor souls deserve more for their plight.

And thus have I, good King Hagan have spoken,
About the lands not far from my own.
Lands where the king hath his subjects forsaken,
And a brother of whom I forever bemoan!

Learn more about this author, Rene Pietersen.
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