Written studiously on the 1st day of Rain's Hand on sheet parchment and under black quill ink.
An impromptu ode composed by Skyrim's traveling bard. Ft. a priestly (and frankly unimpeachable) character likened to Talos' faithful servant, Heimskr, who spends his days dutifully preaching his prophecies to the people of Whiterun. In other words, a silly poem composed about a seemingly off-his-rocker preacher preaching about the end of the world and fire and brimstone and how his fine hat has everything to do with the fate of the universe — inspired by the hallowed word of Heimskr and the sight of him going about his usual business, which was simply so inspiring to the Dragonborn, she felt her pen must connect with her paper in a fashion befitting of her title as bard.
Him and his Hat
The side of the street,
It's there where he stands
He's looking around
And shaking his hands.
.:.:.
"Can not you all see
The world's going to end?"
He'd shout it quite loud,
But never a friend.
.:.:.
For people don't heed
His wide eyes and stare.
It's obvious he
Is not at all there.
.:.:.
His strange fine cap hat
Once flopped off his head.
I picked it up, hand
It back to him, said,
.:.:.
"Your hat, sir, it's here."
Old preach was just ticked.
"It's all to explode,
Quite soon, I predict."
.:.:.
He wandered off, mutter'd,
And shaked his capped head
Then turned back and shout'd
"Not hats, what I meant!"
.:.:.
The side of the street.
It's there where he'd sat.
'Til guards took away
Him and his hat.