A goat has strayed, snatched from familiar holt,
Hostaged in domains where eagles sink their soul.
On sev'nth of October felled, ninety-seven still in mole,
The bleat of flesh and bone in darkened bolt.
Upon the shifty plains, a rabbit has a scheme,
Sheinbaum, the doe with plans to pacify the lawless beam.
In her opening act, she targets the poison dream,
To holster the viper's hiss and reclaim the lost esteem.
A dog and hare wrestle in cobbled square,
In the shadow of the tower, a dance of fear and dare.
Though falcons may have numbers, swift rabbits have the flair,
In each alley and borough, the ground they strive to snare.
