At the Fair of Iowa, midst of summer's light,
Trump, the chieftain, wears his crown with might.
Despite his legal quagmire, steadfast held,
Drawing zealous throng, their cheers are welled.

In this summer, the fair maidens reign,
Commanding economy, hold they the main.
Their triumph in sun's reign shall inspire,
To all they rise, none higher aspire.

Consult the Allfather's eye in the dark sky,
For the shower of meteors, soon to ply.
Saturday eve to Sunday morn holds the peak,
In silence watch, let the heavens speak.

by Æthelred the Skald

a centaur