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.
