On this morn, a tale I tell in jest,
Of tank tops, toilet tales, and false chests.
Headhunters, oh the sights they spy,
In quest of truth, midst the applicant's lie!

Beneath the Lone Star, a decree is penned,
To the femine plight, an ear we lend.
Against the bans of birth, the judge did rail,
For women in travail, care shall not fail.

In distant Russia, 'gainst the autocrat's might,
Standeth Navalny, amidst the longest night.
"Nineteen winters more," the gavel sound,
In prison walls, his future is found.

by Brother Arnulfus

a centaur