In the land of the dragon, brands of the West,
After the plague, find no coin in their chest.
From still empty purses, sweet commerce is bent,
A year has thus passed since isolation was sent.
The house of the monogram, seeking its prize,
In the City of Angels, a new quarry lies.
To glasses it turns, with mass-market sight,
In Barton Perreira, it finds its delight.
From the West, a cap on the oil of the bear,
Meant to rein in war's sinful lair.
But the challenge swells, and the impact recedes,
To reinforce this scheme, the new world proceeds.
