Pepperand Salt, saith the scribe's report,
A tale of seasons, mild and sort.
Pass the ale, let's make a jest,
God's humor in it, we are blessed.

Runaround, of the Monday's tale,
A quest with mind, not foot nor sail.
Laughter rings, in cloister's hush,
As monks seek answers, in the dusk.

What's News, echoed world-wide,
Stories unfold, far and wide.
In this cask of God's own brew,
Findeth truth, both old and new.

by Brother Arnulfus

a centaur