T’was the Death Knight before Winter Veil, and all through Azeroth,
Not a creature was stirring, even Plaguebringer Noth.
The weapons were hung in Naxxramas with care,
In hopes that The Lich King soon would be there.
The ghouls were nestled all snug in their tombs,
While maggots devoured their brains in the gloom.
And Heigan in jammies, and I in my cap,
Had just settled down for a long deathless nap.
When out on the ziggurat there came such a clatter,
I rose from the grave to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a drake,
Tore open the shutters and did a double-take.
When, what to my decaying eyes should appear,
An armoured nightmare with a frightening sneer.
With bright glowing eyes, blue as stained glass,
I knew in a moment that it must be Arthas.
And then, in an instant, I heard on the roof,
The scratching and clawing of a skeletal hoof.
As I drew in my skull and looked at the room
Through the portal came Arthas, heralding doom.
He was dressed all in plate, from his head to his foot,
With the blood of the innocent caked on his boot.
A runesword of frost in his outstretched appendage,
And the look on his face was filled with pure rage.
He said not a word, but went straight to his work,
Of raising the dead, and then turned with a smirk.
And pointing his sword at my boney chest,
He gave me his army to lead to conquest.
He sprang on his horse, with deafening knell,
And away he flew like a demon from hell.
But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he drove out of sight,
“The last Winter Veil for all, for here comes a Death Knight!”