In Tulsa, below the sky so pale,
Laws o'er Indians do not prevail.
Like rabbits clear of snare's release,
They move unhindered, blessed with peace.

At Russia's port came blow, so harsh,
Ukraine's stern drones through ether dash.
Like dogs in grain and oil fight,
The Black Sea roars, the heart of night.

The draught of joy 'gainst gloom does wage,
Treats mother's sorrow, turns the page.
Snails to spring, hope's bloom unfurls,
Blessing to dawns of worn, new girls.

by Guillemette de Ventadour

a centaur