Gary Gygax, RIP

all around the world the unwashed masses share a great loss
we shuffle through our days in our black trench coats and our ties,
our glasses ever so smudged, and our hair ever so tossled
we take a moment to mourn (in our own socially awkward way)
our collective uncle.

dear gygax, i raise my guisarm (not my halberd, not my pole-ax, there
is a difference, goddamn it!) to you
the weight of your worth will be measured in gold pieces
and then converted to electrum pieces and platinum pieces to save on the zeroes

thank you for the poison usage rules
for the grand master of flowers, for thief-acrobats
and drow fur
thank you for alignment languages,
for mandatory follower attraction
and for the great lord cuthbert

because of you i will always be able to look back on kinder, less simple days
when caveliers began at level -5,
when there were more cantrips than level 9 spells
and when psionic combat took six to ten steps, three tables, four die
roles, and yet was explained in a single column at the very end of the
dmg index

may your soul live on in the happy hunting grounds
under the shade of a lessor wolf-in-sheep's-clothing plant
or perhaps in nirvana, marching with the modrons, hand in hand with
primus, the one and prime
though i may live to reach the venerable age category (and its wisdom bonus) i will always remain indebted to you

sleep well, beautiful soldier
until one of your millions of nephews gets his hand on a ring of major wishes
and brings your soul back to the prime material plane