Somewhere in Europe Crowds loudly cheer For twenty-two men Chasing a sphere

A silver serpent crosses the land. Drawing miles of straight lines, sometimes a bend. It never sleeps but lays on a bed. Like stairs taking people up, yet it always stays flat.

Used to contemplate or have fun. My parties are known worldwide. While my waving is constant, some stop to see a world in a piece of me.

Filled with precipitation, And not to boast, The most diverse biome. Finer roast.

The ground around me is forgiving to a fall, but deadly without understanding. Near or far, people traverse on me for beauty or sport. Here beauty can turn to a swirl of chaos.