There once was a fellow,

both jovial and mellow

returning to a joy he had loved

He found old friends, stepped on e-lego's again,

Instead found his foot in a web

Of deceit, lackluster, nomenclature not clutch enough it seemed

He asked, and begged, and pleaded for a device he need

A silk touch pick o' diamond, encrusted with l33t craftsmanship steez

Offered many channels, discords, forums of people in frenzy

To be stifled, run-round and shut door at every opportune entry

He had found a vein in vain of course, in a similar vein irony that was due for his short

patience and temper, for the glorious item had reached him from its slumber

The pick as talon in his grasp, the will and hope steadfast

bolts down the mine tunnel, forgetting his flask

In a flash, the ores had disappeared cruelly one day to the next

and as a finality point of test

I proofed the syndrome of unhappiness by drowning in lava, pick in my left, diamond plate on my chest and legs,

dead.

The dream was dead.