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To Geoffrey Chaucer

For us, who love Albion's land and cherish its poets,
it was a pleasure to read your work
and make our students your colleagues for a while,
under your guide and your always present light.
Thank you,
Emanuela and Emma

TABLE OF CONTENTS

General Prologue
The Politician's Tale
The Migrant's Tale
The Environmentalist's Tale
The Economist's Tale
The Student's Tale
The Chef's Tale
The AI Developer's Tale
The Gamer's Tale
The Rapper's Tale
The Journalist's Tale
The Influencer's Tale
Epilogue

GENERAL PROLOGUE

n a rainy March Day, with spring's rebirth near,
Nature's colors are bright, and blossoms appear.
A group, diverse but with shared beliefs at heart,
In Udine's central pub, they sought a warm start.
Outside, light rain whispered, winter’s end in the air,
As spring's gentle touch began to repair.
Over hot coffee, their chatter did bloom,
When I, a jobless coach driver, entered the room.
Hearing their plans for the jubilee grand,
But lacking a way to reach the planned land,
I offered my services, for a fee to arrange,
A trip down to Rome, in a deal quite strange.
There was an AI DEVELOPER , not in shape,
With black hair, glasses, and a freckled face.

A long beard adorned his chin,
At 35, his journey did begin.
Sweaty and stinky, with dark circles under his eyes,
In his hoodie and pajama pants, he did rise.
Sandals on feet, headphones in place,
A hat atop his head, in this digital space.
In his small home, where screens buzzed with light,
The man found comfort, day and night.
But staring at pixels, his health declined,
Yearning for more, his spirit pined.
A friend then suggested, “Try something new,
Leave your safe space, see what you can do.”
Scared at first, leaving all he had known,
But as time went by, he felt less alone.
With courage and bags, he left behind,
The digital world, for the unknown to find.
Excited and nervous, he journeyed on,
Into a life where new dreams dawned.
A high school STUDENT there was, named Thomas,
He seemed really nice when you saw him in class.
But secretly, he wasn't so nice at all,
He tricked people with his words, making them fall.
His eyes were green, and his hair was curly brown,
He walked around in white sambas all over town.
Wearing baggy jeans and big shirts, he'd roam,
But don't be fooled, kindness wasn't his tome.
As a boy, Thomas loved to stay
In the kitchen, where smells would sway;

Grandma cooked and shared her tales,
Leaving a memory that never fails.
He spent his days on courts and in the kitchen's glow,
Thinking himself the best, though his shyness didn't show.
His own well-being mattered most, others mattered so little,
He cared not for their troubles, nor their joy or their fiddle.
Although he was smart, he didn't see lying as bad,
Sadly, history won't let us change what we've had.
He thought he knew best, in his own quiet way,
But his choices would haunt us, come what may.
In the trendy coach, by the teenager's side,
Sat a starred CHEF, with wisdom as his guide.
They spoke of art, of painting and delight,
United by their passion, culinary might.
Always in checkered pants, black and white,
With coat and toque, his culinary light.