The Lampshade Writer

  Final Plague #5 On the battlefield, a six-day war ensued, The ancient land felt the darkened shroud, As the plague and its brothers vowed. Invaded by this ruthless horde, Their presence felt like a chilling chord. Amongst the olive trees, they crept, Into the land, their shadows swept. Capturing swathes of vast territory, Their hold tightened, spreading fast. But amidst the chaos and despair, Hope lingered in the whispered air. Brave souls rose to fight the blight, Against the plague’s relentless might. With courage and strength, they stood tall, Ready to defy the looming pall. Through valleys deep and mountains high, Their spirits soared into the sky. In unity, they faced the darkened fate, Determined to break free from this hateful state. Though the plague and brothers tried their best, In the end, it was unity that passed the test. The ancient land, scarred but unbowed, Embraced the light, dispelling the shroud.

Final Plague #4 - TLSW  In the land of olive trees so green, A rebellion rose, a sight unseen. In the year of ‘87, a fire ignited, Olive hearts pure, with hope united. The olive groves rustled with discontent, Against plagues that left their mark, intent. From river banks to the vast blue sea, The olive spirit longed to break free. Economic chains weighed heavy and cold, Yet the olive souls stood brave and bold. Yearning for a state they could call their own, In the olive uprising, their seeds were sown. Through the trials and tears of those days, Olive green became a symbol ablaze. Of resilience, unity, and dreams so vast, The first uprising, a memory steadfast. In the whispers of the olive leaves, Lies the tale of those who dared to believe. In the first olive green uprising's quest, For freedom, peace, and olive zest.

  Final Plague #2 - TLSW In the aftermath of the plague’s charade. Unity was lost, and division took the stage. The first War of the plagues had begun, Fierce battles raged, chaos was spun, Until Plague claimed victory, and peace was won. But in ’49, the cost was steep, 750,000 olive greens fell in the heap. Displaced lives, their homes in ruins, In the wake of the plagues’ cruel doings. The land was split, scars left to show, Three parts emerged from the chaos below. The Land of the Plagues, where shadows loom, The River Bank and sea were filled with gloom. A chapter in history, forever to last, The echoes of war, a haunting past.