|Dear Lords and Ladies of the Flame|
|I've come to you for aid,|
|I've a strange and sickly fever|
|And it makes me much afraid.
|I believe that it first started|
|When Tylia I did meet,|
|For I felt a warm sensation|
|From my head down to my feet.
|When I come into her presence|
|My cheeks turn fiery red,|
|For all the blood I carry|
|Seems to rush into my head.
|When from her I'm parted,|
|I cannot concentrate.|
|My thoughts they wander here and there,|
|It happens oft of late.
|I used to sleep quite soundly|
|Upon my bed at night,|
|But now I fret and toss and turn|
|Until the morning light.
|I also used to gorge myself|
|I'd a hearty appetite,|
|But now I don't feel hungry|
|And I hardly touch a bite.
|I went to see a healer|
|And explained to him my plight,|
|He told me just to take some pills|
|And said I'd be all right.
|I'm sure he was a charlatan,|
|The pills did me no good,|
|My condition went from bad to worse|
|As I feared it would.
|And so I wrote this message|
|In the hope that you might know,|
|From the symptoms I've described above|
|What is it ails me so?|