It was the Helicarrier,
That soared the wintry sky;
And on-board this ship was a madman named Wade,
He would ne'er fear to die.
Red were his garments bedecked with black,
His face all scarréd and worn,
And his swords slung cross-wise upon his back,
That many foe-men had torn.
The Director stood upon the bridge,
One-eyéd, with a patch
And he saw how the satellites did show
Three storms so clos'ly match'd.
Then up and spake that mad-man Wade,
A favor he asked right plain,
"Yo, Fury drop me off anywhere,
For I want a hurricane!"
He held his surfboard tight in his hand,
Some zinc rubbed on his mask,
The Director told him what he could do, his
Language not fit for the task.
Frigid and howling blew the gales,
But Wade knew what to do,
The sleet fell thick about his head,
As he gathered up his crew.
Down came the God of Storms, nam'd Thor,
With Mjolnir in his hand;
And with Johnny Storm to pilot them down,
Off troop'd their merry band.
"Come to me! Come to me! My chimichangas,
Wade chortl'd in his mirth;
For I can consume the lot of you,
And still have time to surf."
He ope'd the door to the Quin-Jet hatch,
And gazed into the storm;
He jumped outside on his bungee cord,
His surfboard not forlorn.
"All-Father! Let Wade return unharmed,
Or Not, I guess we shall see."
"Shut up Thor, no one asked you to speak!" —
Came Wade's voice drifting back with glee.
"All-Father! Let him not freeze to death,
Though that might kinder be."
Said Storm in his seat "I greatly fear
Flight in such angry seas!"
"All-Father! Behold that moving dot,
Against the Wave it rides?"
Too far and away the dot was to see,
Though on the crest it flies.
Tied to his board with cord from Stark,
His mask froze fast in its place,
The shining light of New Yourk shone through,
The snow and touched his eyes.
The Deadpool steered his board to the waves
And crested there atop;
And he thought of Nick, who'd this forbade,
His giggles ne'er did stop.
So fast through the sunset, cold and wet,
Towards the darkened city swept,
Like a frost-rimmed phantom Wade was set
Tow'rds Fifth Avenue he kept.
Though ever came buildings in between,
Strange noises filled up the air;
O'er the sound of the oncoming storm,
The citizens cheered that he'd dare.
The crest of the wave was his now; beneath,
In-land he rode the storm.
With a whooping bellow swept the streets
He rode with a perfect form.
He struck where the waves looked smooth as glass
For glass indeed it was,
The splintered shards tore at his hide
And it rent a scream from his jaws.
His tattered clothes main soaked with blood,
Helped not to save his pride;
As a mortal man he hit yet again,
Ow! OW! The Deadpool cried!
Come morning there atop the glass,
A businessman stood and stared,
Down at the wreck of our Deadpool there,
Floating still, no doubt how he'd fared.
A frozen corpse did Wade Wilson seem,
With debris' flotsm'd guise;
But we know the truth, who follow Deadpool,
The anti-hero will rise.
So thus fell the wave that carried Wade,
Through the dark'ning streets below!
Dash'd to pieces against Oscorp Tow'r,
On the spire of Norman's Woe!