Upon Gina, all do lean and pine,
Commerce Queen, in talk divine.
Wisdom's draught from her we borrow,
Her cup runneth o'er, no sorrow.
A thrall named Prigozhin, by Putin maimed,
In Kremlin's Godfathership, we are shamed.
In Russia's vine, a poisonous grape,
The state now drunk on power's jape.
In tribe and feud, our minds are keyed,
In politics it's clear, indeed.
Our minds akin to barrels of brew,
In conflict's ale, west European new.
