In the realm where gold and silver hold sway,
Oil drillers and lore makers have their say.
From the wells of liquid fire, to the art of the silicon séance,
Warding off the frost of need, without the specter of redundancy's dance.

Hail to the rite of the rooster's call in Iowa's hallowed bowers,
Where votes are cast like runes, divining future hours.
The titans of the scarlet fold gather in the heartland's pall,
To see who shall rise, the mightiest of all.

In the land of the sacred flame, where David held the helm,
A war with the falcon-crest tribe does the peace overwhelm.
Pressure as dire as the sea-wolf's maw, on Netanyahu's reign amass,
Whilst Gaza, like a storm-battered skiff, endures the tempest's crass.

by Æthelred the Skald

a centaur