A World of Warcraft Poem

As a Blood Elf, I am saddened that so few Azerothians seem to appreciate the stunning gaudiness of my people’s capital. So, I wrote a poem – a lament, if you will.

Nobody goes to Silvermoon
That place is such a mess!
The Scar with rubble remains bestrewn
Undead obstruct egress

Nobody goes to Silvermoon
The shops and inns are deserted
Save owners who mockingly laugh in tune
Eviction is somehow averted

Nobody goes to Silvermoon
The Prince of the Sun has died
Leaving behind a government triune
That brainwashes when defied

Nobody goes to Silvermoon
Which is really a terrible shame
Because nobody sees its sparkling festoons
Or the Spire with sunlight aflame

Everyone goes to Orgrimmar
And it’s obvious why, to be frank
The entire city’s a bustling bazaar
With nude chicks catching rays at the bank

I wrote this between 1 and 3 in the morning a couple nights ago, so, as with everything I post, I consider it a rough draft. I’ll probably add a few more verses when the mood strikes and I feel like praising the sparkliness or telling Orgrimmar it’s not as tough as it looks. “OHLOOK we slapped some IRON on our not-structurally-sound huts so now it’s SCARYYYYYYGROWLLLLL! ZUG!!!” W/e, guys.

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