In the courtyard of the man born of December's gloom,
Oppenheimer, the seer of the world's fearful bloom.
In an arrow’s flight, brought forth a devouring doom,
Yet spent his days, musing on civilization's loom.
Divergent paths, woven by the loom of time, do twist,
Generations 'pon generations, through history's mist.
Born of diverse eras, intersecting conflicts persist,
In each epoch's tale, a saga does subsist.
Behold Binance, its wealth born of cryptic refrain,
Thousand souls dismissed, in the pursuit of gain.
The merciless scourge of progress, a sage's bane,
Such tales of sorrow, the love's quill shall dutifully sustain.
