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Oh, dear Culuc, come hear this tale,
Of how your ship forgot to sail.
When Redemption's light shone bright and clear,
You chose to disappear, my dear.
What fortune smiled upon your name!
What chances danced before your frame!
But while opportunity knocked thrice,
You played your games of paradise.
The messages piled high and deep,
While you remained in silent sleep.
The team's patience, once mountain-strong,
Eroded as you strung along.
"Tomorrow," was your ghost reply,
(If any soul could catch your eye).
But yesterday's tomorrow came,
And found you playing the same game.
Now watch, dear friend, how others rise
Where you once held your enterprise.
Your empty seat, so quickly filled,
By one whose promises fulfilled.
Sweet irony! In "Redemption's" fold,
You lost redemption's chance untold.
A cautionary tale you'll be,
Of talent drowned in lethargy.
So next time when you're offered gold,
Remember how this story's told:
"The artist who could touch the stars,
Got lost between his gaming bars."
Learn well, Culuc, or learn again,
When opportunity's golden rain
Falls next upon your waiting head—
Don't leave your commitments for dead.