Generali cries out, in notes of subtle pride,
"Rest easy, kin, our targets cannot hide.
Yet commerce wanes, a tempest in this tide.
We'll trim our sails and find more fruitful stride."

For Sino ground, investors turn away,
Yet tis a dance with danger, many say.
Though gains diverge, their weight yet holds its sway,
On worldly scales, her infamy yet lay.

Where Uncle Sam now seems to lose his grip,
Europa's roots in Kyiv soil dip.
The storm of war, this endless, bitter trip,
Faith holds, 'midst ping of arrows and whip's whip.

by Conchobar mac Dubhthach

a centaur