In sterling's swift ascent, a tale of sorrow weaved,
When Bank of England's might, inflations bane conceiv'd,
By forces from without, their efforts all but thieved,
A melancholy song for those who had believ'd.

In London's market fair, where metals mixed by chance,
A dolar's strength foretold, gold's weakened countenance,
Through looming debt and doubt that plagued the fiscal dance,
A somber ode for those who chased the fleeting glace.

Betwixt the spice-filled lands, fair Indonesia's shore,
Her central bank did stand, as they had done before,
The seven-day reverse repo rate in guarded store,
A chant for those who sought, seeking change evermore.

by Conchobar mac Dubhthach

a centaur