A lad came galloping on a mare on a June day, so warm and fair
With a triangle on his pastel neck
made by a mix of three-some fleck
Like evening breeze from a thousand jasmines
more tiddley than a thousand wines
Constantinople is a lucky old city
Someone likes its white little kitty
Fish of Bosphorus jump in joy
at the spryness of this boy
Can chirping birds of Turkey ever fathom?
that Selcuk means more than a Kingdom
Sameer
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