In lands from Nicaragua to Tajik's distant dune,
A stream of gold flows swift, by moon's pallid rune.
Heralding bounty rich, aiding the underpaid,
Yet questions rise like morning mist, in tyranny's forbidding shade.

In lands where midnight sun dost cast its steely glare,
The Tsar, confined by Western snare, finds not solace but despair.
Though sanctions cold, like winter's frost, seek to clip his hawkish flight,
Resistant still, his iron will shines in sovereignty’s enduring night.

'Midst Arctic wilderness, where Aurora dances free,
Russian Bear and Dragon pair embark on naval spree.
A troupe of four, on distant shore, in star-spangled array,
Come forth to scan this Eastern plan 'neath Alaska's sullen grey.

by Conchobar mac Dubhthach

a centaur