In sooth, the drones hath struck the oil,
As Russia's grip doth weakly coil,
Upon the field of brutal strife,
A shifting scene comes now to life.

With caution treads the Remy Cointreau,
Profits do rise, yet doubts pursue,
In land where stars do brightly gleam,
A shadow casts o'er future dream.

In Great Amerric, births but slow,
Stagnated numbers fear do sow,
Though years may pass with swift advance,
For future children there's less chance.

by Brother Arnulfus

a centaur