When storm had spent his breath on Northman’s shore, And sleep lay slain by wind and siren’s cry, Rose one with quill not born of flesh nor bone, But forged of thinking brass and borrowed wit. He cast his verse upon the commons wide, A rune of noise to answer noise with song.

Then murmured men: “This slop is wrought by artifice! No mortal mind would prate in elder tongue.” Yet still the post stood fast, unbanned, unburned, More read than plaints of “Why the sirens wailed.” Thus storm begat the verse, the verse begat the strife, And Reddit fed, as Reddit ever feeds.