The first rider raised a withered hand,
Unleashing infestation non could withstand.
Nations fell at his command,
As Pestilence rode out across the land.
The second rider wanted more,
So unleashed conflict with a mighty roar.
Brother slew the brother he once adored,
Falling before the rider War.
The third rider gave a vile grin,
Crops withered, people grew thin.
Bones pierced skin,
All bought low by the rider Famine.
The last rider was mightily pleased,
With all the destruction he could see.
Those left begged for mercy on their knees,
But Death was immune to their pleas.