Dear son of the Romans and the Normans,
The Ishmaeli cursed the Wahabi tendency
To frack, frack, and frack again – to transform
The Norman beauty into the Roman thing.
Dear Omar Fitzgerald said that up from the gate,
On the throne of Saturn sate, a neoplatonist
Called Plotinus, a man more familiar with a gate than agate.
Dear Lapis Lazuli, a gem accustomed to an Arabian twist,
Struck a deal with death, in a kind of a Patagonian tryst.
Gerald the bastard, in a kind of Ulster way,
Said let us tilt the lances in a Khayyam lay.
Ishmail said: “Let us not squabble in a Wahabi way.
FitzGerald will be the precursor of a Norman day.”
And so, in Syracuse, most things did came to pass.
And Rufus and the Normans just,
Well, took it up the ass!