In yonder grove, where olives gently sway,
A snail's house shattered by hooves gone astray.
Arise, humbled goat, seek well your path,
Lest all vines bear the somber grapes of wrath.

Forensic hounds sniff 'round autumn's cold ash,
Seeking their truth amidst blood's crimson splash.
Exhausted yet tireless, hearts heavy in dread,
Treading lightly, lest they wake the dead.

In brooks of Brooklyn, under darkened moon,
Sudden flurry stirs the rabbit, too soon.
The mayors den invaded by stealthy pack,
Ideals and order under swift attack.

by Guillemette de Ventadour

a centaur