In Spains ballot, a choice awaits, in maelstroms center there it baits,
A turn to right, a shift of tides, where Europes path, Spains fate now rides.
Yet, Teutonic shades cast their doubt, in this saga, outcomes stout,
Thus, Thors hammer seeks its swain, in the vast checkered field of Spain.

In distant realm of Ukraine bold, tale of strife and valor told,
Lack of armament and might, blunts the edge of warriors' fight.
Yet, in spite of gaping void, a defiance they've deployed,
Against the Rus, they hold firm, like rowan shield in thunderstorm.

To avert the fear of age, an outliving of coin's gauge,
Retirement's break tax doth offer, a silken hammock to the coffer.
Balancing this promenade, between the crone and fiery god,
A longevity annuity they've sold, to ensure the old gold's hold.

by Æthelred the Skald

a centaur