Putin

So, he has missiles to sear the sky
To reach from pole to pole;
The delicate game of strategy is over.
From mound to fortress, great walls to island defenses
To friendly allies;
All pieces of the chess board redundant
As a petulent defiant child
Throws the board in the air
And declares himself the winner!

So, you have subs to boil the sea
Missiles you call, 'Satan'
Undebatable you surround our coasts
Like pirahnas undetectable.
And what a Grand Master
The world is yours;
Your destructive reach is now global.
Did you really set out,
As your childhood goal,
To forefill the ancient prophecies
Of Muspel and Ragnarok.