Defence Of The Ancients Poem by Eric Bult

Defence Of The Ancients



His staring eyes and scrabbling fingers tell
Of weird experience he undergoes:
It seems he stares into the face of Hell,
But I'm assured he's merely in the throes
Of some benighted game that many play
On their computers: I'm told every hour
Half a million people, so they say,
Engage together thus their brains to sour.
Of course they have no such intent in mind
As thus they jab and tap and scrape the keys.
However my well tested judgement finds
Against their own submissions, please.

I know the Judge of Time will surely find
If I am right or I have lost my mind.

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