In deepest grief, a web is spun,
For lives once bright now darkly dim,
Boeing's mea culpa won,
In anguished hearts, a mournful hymn.

Forsooth, on yonder Chicago's streets,
A vile tempest of hate doth rage,
Disinvestment's trauma repeats,
As sorrow floods the mortal stage.

A query looms 'pon parchment scribed,
Whither goes this land's vast refrain?
In debt's cruel grip we're described,
A tempest shrouds our futures' bane.

by Conchobar mac Dubhthach

a centaur