When Harald conquered fiefdoms to unite
the northern monarchies, most wouldn’t bow.
They took to ships and settled Iceland right
away, and wrote the sagas we read now.
When Austen crafted novels, change afoot
enclosed the land and filled the air with soot.
Her art ensnared a dying way to be,
preserving what she knew (and pleasing me).
Just so, the culture heretofore controlled
by alpha males with paltry melanin,
is in its winter now. Its decadence
precedes its death – its centuries have tolled.
Adherents are in panic – they can’t win
the future, and they rage for recompense.