I.

The vassals sipped their kvaasa, and made the vessel for their bossa,

stripping oak and birch from all the forests in the passa.

For three long years, they hunched and chipped to make the mighty Vasa.

Finally it was ready to go and make the Poles all crossah.

But Oh!! The heavy cannons made it burp and go all splosha.

II.

The crowds watched on with mouths aghast

As crew sank down with stern and mast.

The big king shrugged and walked right past.

Wooden carcass sank with glugging blast.

III.

Days turned to months and the chatter died.

Families went on, as they’d never cried.

The wreck got its rest well below the tide.

For years… comfort, kelp did provide.

IV.

Then one fine day, did men of yore

decide they’d wrest it back up shore

– a shining beacon of craft and gore,

Nation’s pride back to the fore.

V.

As I sit in Stockholm, write this paean,

near the fossil raised again,

synthetic replicas of crew so slain,

munching my burger with chips and grain…

Can’t help but think of leaders still

sharing visions, doling swill,

sucking souls, stealing till,

who strut on naked, not feeling chill.

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