Within the market's chamber, dread takes flight,
As hawks of steel descend in Israel's night.
The sparrows of the air, they bow and cower,
At news of Hamas' unleashed power.

Again, to Rio Tinto shall the goats traipse,
Unyielding in their iron-clad capes.
From Pilbara's heart, the shipment's yield,
Sets a steadfast pace across the field.

Though silent is the snail in shade of weeks,
In whispering shells, Iran's plot speaks.
To Israel, a deadly sting they cast,
In twisted mischief of the shrouded past.

by Guillemette de Ventadour

a centaur