In the realm of earth's depth, a quest for purest gold,
Unseen hands unite as one, a standard to uphold.
Four crafters of boundless wealth, to honor's song they hold;
For in the heart of crystals mined, lie tales of honor told.

Upon the eastern dragons breath, a plague unseen does brew,
The world's healers seek truth 'midst the celestial hue.
Tales of children, stricken low, stir hearts with fear anew,
A plea for knowledge in the dark, the candle's flame to strew.

In the West, the silvered coin casts a seeming spell,
Yet whispers round the hearth foretell a coming swell.
Though strength does fade, tis not foreseen that it will quickly quell,
Bits of gold in times of need, in pockets they will dwell.

by Conchobar mac Dubhthach

a centaur