HOT-Fab, Limerick style:
There once was a shaman named Matty
Who believed herself to look quite knatty
Though the HOTFB some may mock
She thought she was kind of a jock
Even if the reality was damn tatty
In Azeroth did Mataoka
A Helm of Fierce Bison decree
Where Yan-Zhe the sacred river ran
Though dailies measureless to man
Down to a fatiguing sea
So twice five flight paths of dark soil ground
With dungeons and towers were girdled round:
And here were the gardens filled with herbs and rills*
Where humming violet light of Crystalsong’s tree
And here were forests ancient as the Grizzly Hills,
Enfolding treasures of gear of greenery
But oh! That deep romantic knitted cap which slanted
Down the long brown hair athwart a noggin cover!
A savage place! As holy and enchanted
A e’er beneath a waning moon was daunted
By a woman wailing for her stolen golden clover!
And from this noggin, with ceaseless hubris seething
As if this earth in Borean leather pants were breathing,
A mighty fountain of Sha was forced:
Amid whose swift windshear’d burst
Huge fragments vaulted like dismounted hail
Or chaffy plagued grains in dungeon’s flail;
And ‘mid these dancing elfs at once and ever
It nerfed the hunter’s once-useful quiver.
Five miles meandering with a mazy motion
Through pixels and bytes the sacred river ran,
Then reached the caverns measureless to ogre-man
And sank in tumult, without any breathing potion
And all who hear should see her there,
And all should cry, Beware! Beware!
Her flashing eyes and messed-up hair
Weave a circle ‘round her like Mike Tyson
And close your eyes with holy dread,
For she on bosses’ hides hath fed,
And herald the Helm of the Fierce Bison!
