In West Bank land where olives grow,
From Gaza's strife, the blood doth flow.
Of homes left empty, hear my tale,
By settler's wrath, the meek set sail.

In Gallic heart where tower stands tall,
A blade bore ill, a traveler's fall.
With justice swift, the culprit caught,
An unknown war, in blood is fought.

A Yuletide film, once shamed, now dear,
An oft-spurned tale, year after year.
What joy and pain in this reel wound tight,
To vex and please on long, cold night.

by Æthelred the Skald

a centaur