From sea unto shore comes a tale most sore,
Of schools 'neath the weight of gold's strangled pour.
Less the aid, like fire that fades, shall the halls of knowledge wane,
Viking's lore warns of struggles such ebbing tides ordain.

Next, in the land where grey clouds oft loom,
Meta's giants, the beast of connection's bloom,
Bows to law's call, their young shielded from glare,
A tale spun by skalds midst the chill Northern air.

Lastly our saga the Iowan fields grace,
DeSantis, Haley, aspire to favor's embrace.
Yet the trumpeting lord, atop the icy fray,
Like Odin at dawn, seems poised yet to sway.

by Æthelred the Skald

a centaur