General Discussion

There once was a kingdom named Denmark,
Whose January turned rather stark—
They flew blood to Greenland’s snow,
And packed charges just in case so,
To crater each runway by dark.

When Donald Trump spoke of “the hard way,”
It rattled old allies one day;
From Nuuk to ice fields afar,
They whispered, “Prepare—this could scar,”
And quietly planned for a fray.

At Kangerlussuaq they plotted the scheme,
To stop any jets mid-regime;
“If aircraft descend,
We’ll blast strips to end
Their landing,” went one icy dream.

They ferried red lifeblood in crates,
Expecting the worst twists of fates;
For sources all said
They quietly read
The signs of escalating states.

When strikes fell on Venezuela one day,
Europe grew wary and gray;
“What comes after this?”
Was the Arctic’s abyss—
And tensions refused to allay.

So talks in the shadows took place,
With Europe closing ranks in the race;
“This crisis,” one said,
“Puts steel in our thread—
We’ll guard our own Arctic space.”

Thus allies grew closer through fear,
As winter made motives more clear;
From whispers to might,
They readied for fight—
And hoped it would never draw near.

Disclaimer: Yes, an AI helped write this—because if you’re looking for pure, hand-crafted literary suffering, you’re welcome to go produce some yourself. If you like my attempts, consider clicking the link.

https://buymeacoffee.com/gfarber