• There is inexpensive ($2 per 30 minutes) underground parking at the City Hall, 110 Laurier Ave. W.
• Stosunkowo niedrogi parking ($2 za 30 minut) w podziemiach City Hall, 110 Laurier Ave. W.

Nie odkładaj życia

Nie odkładaj życia na później, na kiedyś,
Gdy czas w dłoniach znika, jak piasek w wieczności.
Każdy świt to szansa, co serce oplata,
Nie czekaj na jutro, bo jutro oplata.

Marzenia nie lubią w szufladach się kurzyć,
Niech rosną w działaniu, niech w duszy się burzą.
Krok mały, lecz śmiały, świat zmienia w opowieść,
Nie bój się żyć teraz – to życia istota, nie zwłoka.

Serce bije dzisiaj, nie w przyszłym kalendarzu,
Miłość, śmiech i pasja – to skarb w każdym skrawku.
Nie mów: „Jeszcze zdążę”, bo czas jest jak wiatr,
Ulatuje cicho, zostawiając świat.

Więc chwytaj ten moment, niech płonie jak znicz,
Nie odkładaj życia – żyj teraz, żyj dziś!

Author:  Grok AI

Write a poem about freedom convoy in Ottawa, truck drivers, PM Trudeau

The Freedom Convoy

In Ottawa’s heart, where the cold winds bite,
The truckers rolled in, their horns piercing night.
A convoy of steel, with banners held high,
For freedom they roared, beneath Canada’s sky.

From prairies to coasts, they answered the call,
Their rigs lined the streets, by Parliament’s wall.
Against mandates they stood, with a unified plea,
“We drive for our rights, for the right to be free!”

Justin Trudeau, in chambers, looked down,
A leader embattled, his face wore a frown.
“A fringe,” he declared, “with views we don’t share,”
Yet the horns kept on sounding, their echo a prayer.

The truckers, they camped, through snow and through chill,
Their fires burned bright, their spirits burned still.
Not just for themselves, but for all who felt bound,
By rules that they claimed left their freedoms aground.

Prime Minister Trudeau, with a steady hand,
Declared their cause a threat to the land.
Voices rose high, from coast to coast they came,
A fight for freedom, a flickering flame.  

But then came the freeze, accounts locked tight,
Bankers obeyed, in the dead of night.
Truckers watched wealth slip, their families strained,
A heavy price for the rights they claimed.  

“Enough,” cried the man, with power in hand,
He called on the Act to clear out the land.
The trucks were then towed, the streets swept away,
Yet the convoy’s deep cry still lingers today.

For freedom’s a flame that won’t easily fade,
In the hearts of the drivers, their stand was no charade.
Though Trudeau’s decrees brought the protest to cease,
The question remains: can true freedom find peace?

In Ottawa's streets, the story remains,
Of drivers and dreams, through joy and pains.
The frozen accounts, a mark of the fight,
A chapter of courage in the cold winter's night.

From Ottawa’s clash, a tale we now weave,
Of truckers, a leader, and what we believe.
The horns may be silent, the rigs gone from sight,
But the fight for their truth still burns in the night.

Author:  Grok AI