Of past days resplendent, and rules retired,
Decisions oft made in haste, and much desired,
Regret, o' harsh siren, begone thy stinging yet intwined,
A guide for those on life's prow, setting course through time.

Wily folks, hatching plans with cunning might,
A torment crafted for speaker of the twilight,
Echoes bounce off the walls, in the caller's chilling fright,
A dance in the balance, between annoyance and right.

In a land beyond the sea, where eagle's wings are splayed,
A crisis strikes their warrior kin, their courage might just fade,
No more wish they for kin to tread where feet of old have strayed,
An age-old honor, now in dusk, a noble light soon fade.

by Æthelred the Skald

a centaur