There’s a house in a village, somewhere far from town’s noise, 
Where a little girl is sleeping with a bunch of lovely toys. 
“What? Why are these things important?”, will you ask my dear friends, 
Just slow down, get your popcorn and see how the story ends. 

That night our little Carla had a pretty weird dream: 
Twelve stars were slowly emerging around a colored beam; 
Ode to Joy solemnly flowing; everything becoming blurred 
And stars through the haze arising unified into one word. 
“Europe? said breathless Carla, I wonder what does it mean?” 
Suddenly all disappeared like it haven’t ever been! 
Sailing straight among the spaces, into a time lapse she dived 
Thanks to EU’s open borders, on Crete island she arrived. 

“Who are you?” asked mighty Zeus, oddly caressing his beard. 
“I just want to ask what’s Europe, can you answer?” (Zeus leered) 
“It’s the beauty I’ve just stolen, daughter of Phoenician king.” 
“Daughter? King? What are you saying… Hey wait! Mister? Mister?!” *Bing!* 

“…from the ceiling of the palace she has fallen on my bed. 
Marcus! Send guards for a healer! Hopefully she is not dead…” 
“Stop! No need, I’m fine, said Carla. Who you are and where I am?” 
“Great Imperium Romanum! Caesar at your order, ma’am.” 
“I just want to ask a question, ‘fore I’m vanishing again: 
“Europe” what does this word mean? Can one reach it or attain?” 
“Europa?! Non cognosco… Maybe something in the north.” 
“Okay, thank you. Ave Caesar! I continue my way forth.” 

The girl was confused a little: ”Where my next stop will be?…” 
Faster than you could say “future”, down was already she: 
A big room; near the window – someone painting some stuff. 
“Is this Europe? asked Carla. (That guy’s looking really gruff)” 
“Who are you to ask me questions? Soviet spy? You little shrike! 
Das ist no more Europa, it’s the glory of Third Reich!” 
We don’t know who was that strange man, this is just a harmless dream, 
But at least one thing is clear – Carla is too young to deem. 

Even after all this wanders, our girl was doubtful still 
Contemplating on a seashore, she felt desperate and ill. 
Unexpectedly like brexit, some fellow apparaissait, 
Claiming to be wise like Schuman and as cool as Jean Monnet: 
“Aiii tranquila muchachita.” Kidding, he was not from Spain 
He approached, took off his tailcoat and started loudly and plain: 
“Europe, my dear Carla, is not something we can see 
Not a good which you can market or a thing to take and flee, 
Not so strict as an ideal one can worship or betray, 
But for sure not a gamble or a game they sometimes play. 
It is not about the monarchs or lords who ruled long ago 
We should honor them, it’s true, but past’s the bottom of the floe. 
Europe, is common people who make this word sound nice, 
All the great values they share, morals, things without price. 
Europe, is like a flower – grows and shines under the sky 
Humans have the sense of beauty, for bulls – food is food. Bye-bye!” 

School bell ringing, happy children quickly moving to the class 
“Hello kids, please take your places, get your works and start to pass. 
Was it hard to write the essay on The Continent We Love?” 
Carla slyly looked and smiled, for she knows things from above…