mountains of riches

Ours is a robust, diverse economy; we farm many bushes, not just one main tree. In our desert regions grow figs, sheep, and dates; in Iysh are planted vast hectares of grapes; from Grig (our fine capital) clear to the west is where we've found apples and barley grow best. We harvest mine tailings left over from when the Soviets enslaved our shortest, strongest men and sent them to toil deep down underground where mountains of riches and death could be found. There are many minerals, some rare-earth too, there's goose, duck, and rabbit that taste good in stew, for curries and turmeric we're widely famed, for pelts, shoes, and pouches sewn from wild-caught game. These things are protected by a ministry (the People's Collective for Rock, Beast, and Tree) that answers to all citizens living here in a referendum at least once a year. We import as few foreign goods are we can, preferring to till, mine, and milk our land. To keep ourselves free from state-sponsored invaders we plant rice, beans, eggplant, corn, squash, and potaters. We're looking for labor, we pay well and fair, we're not prone to suffer from food shortage scares, so come to Grigovia ye one and all, 'till now we've avoided the global free-fall that's plaguing our neighbors, our friends wide and far, who now wish to steer by our small nation's star. All hail to the Goddesses who number Ten, for how they have blessed us and our verdant fen, we lift up our praises, we make offerings, we give thanks for living like queens and like kings.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥