Beneath the burden of dread skies unfolds,
Israel weeps, her courage tenfold.
Stricken, yet firm, in unity clad,
Mourning her children, her heart eternally sad.

Shattered illusion, invincibility undone,
How could this be? whispers Israel, under the setting sun.
Palestine's sting, deeply it cuts,
The echoes of pain shutters huts.

Upon the stage of judgement, love intertwines,
Judge Jones, in amour, a sordid design.
The lawyer's whisper like a dove,
Their secret kept under the courtly glove.

by Conchobar mac Dubhthach

a centaur