I met a queer man in a modern land,
Who spoke of brooks of bone and shattered stone.
He dipped his trembling fingers in the sand,
And watched the leaves drift far beneath the foam.

In shadows, soon, he found a hollow nook,
A corpse lay still upon a broken tome.
Upon its cover, words the man mistook:
"I bear a name that tarnishes like loam."

He asked, “What name is yours, what cursed brand?”
The corpse did stir and whispered through the gloom:
“I am Melarubiconib, condemned,
A name of silence, carved upon my tomb.”

The man stood silent, frozen by its breath,
The name, like shadow, led him into death