Lo! ’t is a gaming night
Within the aging latter years!
A gaming group of five and bright
Plays Scythe and drinks some beers,
Sit at the table, to see
A game of hopes and fears,
We check our mats, breathe fitfully,
Size up our mighty peers.
Mechs, in the form of gods on high,
Mutter and mumble low,
And hither and thither fly—
Mere meeples they, who come and go
At our bidding, all these mighty things
That shift the game board to and fro,
Push on despite their metal dings,
Destruction and Woe!
This motley drama—oh, be sure
It shall not be forgot!
With encounters chased for evermore
By factions that seize them not,
Through a fac’try that ever returneth in
To the self-same spot,
Build up stars and hearts amidst the din,
Move a cube to an upgrade slot.
But see, amid the Nordic rout,
A creeping Mech intrude!
A yellow faction writhes from out
Its homeland solitude!
It strikes!—it strikes!—with mortal pangs
Enlists with all its food,
And my peers sob and shout some “Dangs!”
Depressed, their attitude.
Out—out are the lights—out all!
And, over each quivering form,
The curtain, a funeral pall,
Comes down with the rush of a storm,
While my old foes, all pallid and wan,
Uprising, unveiling, affirm
At this time, it’s “Game Over, Man!”
And Crimea, the Conqueror Worm.
have some GG