In Lenovo's halls, a slump most dire,
As profits flee, their coffers tire,
The meek PCs do wane as need,
By failing want and spending's heed.

From distant lands, New Zealand cries,
Their interest rate, it swiftly rises,
But stay, dear snail, the tightening ends,
For slow, the consumers cease to spend.

The Banks, like goats now frolicing free,
Were once but dull stocks, could it be?
Alas, dear rabbit, now, in March,
They trill and leap, 'tis traders' last arch.

by Guillemette de Ventadour

a centaur