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Quoth the Dev Team
Once upon a patch day dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary
Over many a quaint and nerdish volume of World of Warcraft lore --
While checking realm status, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my game room door.
"'T is some distraught developer," I muttered, "tapping at my game room door --
Only this and nothing more."
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December
And Discord's every dying ember burned expiring, no more to live
Eagerly I wished the morrow; -- vainly I had sought to borrow
From the forums surcease of sorrow -- sorrow for the lost Decursive --
For the rare and radiant add-on whom the angels named Decursive --
Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken, sad, uncertain plaintive cry of all the cursed ones
Thrilled me -- filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
"'I can learn to train my fingers to decurse and heal once more --
Train my fingers and my eyes and ears alone to heal once more; --
This it is and nothing more."
Deep into the patch notes peering, long I sat there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no undead priest had dared to dream before;
But curses remained unbroken, and the BGs gave no token,
And the Warlocks grew more broken, broken now more than before.
This I whispered, and an echo murmered back, "Intended. L2p. /ignore."
Merely this and nothing more.
Bits I sought while peer to peering, when sudden, sinister, and sneering
In there stepped a stately Dev Team of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made they; and Decursive knew its last day.
Code protected, Dev Team smiling said, "Curses aren't to be a bore."
Asked about Decursive's fate, about a button's changing state --
Quoth the Dev Team, "Nevermore."
And the Dev Team, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the servers, keeping log-ins stopped, my play time unrestored.
And their eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the add-ons, shredded, gleaming, torn in shreds upon the floor;
And Decursive on that pile that lies floating on the floor
Shall be enabled -- nevermore!
(Not really a parody, but thought you all might enjoy it anyway.)
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