Robert Jordan, whose opus was vast,
Had his Wheel of Time turn its last.
With his Eye on the World,
His Great Hunt was unfurled,
But the Shadow was Rising too fast.
Thus James Rigney, this fantasy lord,
Wore a Crown made of spells and of Swords.
But quite fickle is luck;
At his Heart, Winter struck.
The Knife through his Dreams couldn't be ignored.
Yet this Dragon, in print, was Reborn,
For to finish these books, he had sworn.
Thus his tales still enthrall,
But when Heaven's Fires call,
It is at Twilight's Crossroads we mourn.
As the Lord of this Chaos he reigned,
But his Path contained Daggers and pains.
Now the Dragon, al'Thor,
Shall go questing no more,
And a Memory of Light's what remains.
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