In distant lands, the dragon wakes and stirs,
His heavy hoard of gilded treasure turns,
With iron grasp and bated breath, he spurns,
A foretaste of an empire's swift return.

In darkest depths of Amazonian hold,
Four tender souls, their fortitude untold,
From fire and ill-fated wings unfolded,
Lost in a realm of hunger, thirst, and cold.

And in the West, where rival claims contend,
The one crowned Nuggets gilded path ascend,
In triumph's wake, they rise, their foes bend 'fore,
A tale of vict'ry loud with striking blend.

by Conchobar mac Dubhthach

a centaur