Beneath Eastern stars, where warriors jest and spar,
The Gulf state finds a golden cup, yanked from Russia's cellar sore,
For war's bitter brew, to nations far, doth bring merchant's blessings more.
IKEA boasts its banner bright o'er San Francisco's broken street,
Where labor's flight and darkness blight doth offer store a seat,
Surely can their flat-pack might mend this shattered retreat?
Old Dominion, sturdy, strong, outbids another in the race,
A silver stream, so vast, so long, for Yellow's earthly space,
One man's ruin, another's song, thus turns Fortune's face.
