Bouchard, a giant 'pon the merchant path,
In steel he finds his worth, in bargain's aftermath.
A stout surprise, his bid does shine so bright,
A kingdom's treasure pledged, in day and night.

In ages past, the dragon's children bloomed,
Now silent lies the cradle, futures doomed.
Beijing conceals the tale of loss untold,
A nation's plight in quietude is scrolled.

The peach's land, in strife and discord mires,
The past's specter, old wounds stokes fresh fires.
Yet in this turmoil, whispers a prophet's song,
'Biden may win the morrow, 'ere long.

by Conchobar mac Dubhthach

a centaur