In erstwhile lands, where guernseys roam and bleat,
A maiden fair, bound in politics' seat,
She woos ye rural kin with siren's song,
In Senate's thorny thrones she must belong.
As dawn greets the forge in far East's heart,
Yet, forsooth, there is found a feeble part,
The wheel of labor, once swift, now doth slow,
Whilst growth in golden fields continues to grow.
Turkish lanes, once vibrant as summer's bloom,
Now hushed as winter's shroud begins to loom,
Their rich economic weave doth cool,
Restrictive rules now hold their rule.
