In distant lands where elders seek,
To rest their bones so frail and weak,
Yet complications twist and coil,
Taxes, banking, toil and spoil.

Divisive matters plague their halls,
As tales of strife and doom befalls,
Abortion, guns, earth's fiery lung,
At meetings hark, their battles sung.

In paradise, the old retire,
But tangled webs of coin conspire,
Mistakes they make, an onerous price,
Their golden dream now turned to ice.

by Æthelred the Skald

a centaur