Who was that guy Willy again? I’m a poet.

This must be kept from my fellow orcs.
But ever since I ate that book I tried to read, I burp up some poetic lines now and then. So in honour of that Shakespeare guy whom I unfortunately  did not meet at the theater where he was supposed to find his love (and didn’t because I kind of destroyed the stage)… well, where was I? Oh, yes, poetry burps.
Here we go:

How can I then rejoice in gory fight,
when I’m debarr’d the benefit of loot?
An overlord’s oppression is not eas’d by right,
But fight and right and right and fight are moot.

(Don’t ask me what it means. Poetry is supposed to be vague and interpretable)

What a piece of work is orc!
How useless in reason.
So very finite in faculty.
In colour, in fighting, how express and fearsome!
In action how like a barbarian.
In apprehension how like an amoeba.
The terror of the worlds.
The paragon of ignorance.

(I’m quite pleased with that one, actually. But still, my fellow orcs must never know)


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