Upon the moor, a Scot's refrain is stilled,
An independence flame, for decades thrilled.
Our brave Salmond, he now rests at sixty-nine,
In highland dreams beneath the waning pine.
The scrolls of Gaza, inked in shadow's hue,
Betray a tie 'twixt Hamas and war's red rue.
Alas! From Tehran whispers of funding emerge,
To Hezbollah's embrace, they quietly urge.
'Tis said the dragon readies gifts untold,
Yet shrouded in silence, the sum remains controlled.
In market's wait, the stock-holders lament,
For mysteries of China's stimulus are not yet spent.
