Asherons Call: Poetry is Never Really Finished

Who are we to try to force poetry to conform to a calendar week? Poetry is flowing, organic; its schedule is its own!

May I present a beautiful example of epic poetry, Armor of Gold, by Myphri:

The ways of war are known to me
My name, you ask? I'm called Myphri.
Roaming the wilds in armor of gold
defending the land from monsters bold.

Read the rest here

And Limericks too shall have their day, thanks to Reyen of Wintersebb:

There was a monouga from Rithwic,
Who's thoughts were not very quick,
Who taught him to dance?
And who made his pants?
He'd forgot, with his head like a brick.

Further limericks reside here.

I hope these works will ease the pain of waiting for patch day. Thank you to all who contributed to poetry, err, week!