|Early in April, centuries past
King Popiel soups with all his kin
To lay to rest their feud at last
By way of prophecy and sin.
Leaves of an
oak rustle and sigh
Silvery moonlight Goplo waves
In darkened chamber death is nigh
Twelve of his kin and Popiel knave.
All of King's men by fire nestle
Cups overflow with poisoned brew
King be the first to raise his vessel
"For men and country" -drinks untrue.
* * *
In Magdalenka, millennium later,
Darkness obscures and hides no more
when poisoned flagon a different traitor
Raises to toast the land once more.
But something's different 'bout
After the drink remain all merry
And only after break of light
Together every hope they burry...
A decade later, fattened, rested
Made rich by others' work and pain,
Free and by any unmolested
In Michigan, they toast again.
* * *
And only someone with good hearing
Hears rodent noise that night doth rend,
When in the darkness they are nearing
soothsayers of a tyrant's end...