A well of black gold rests and stirs,
Gains held on wings of China's spurs,
Their stimulus a calming balm,
To keep economy from harm.

The humble dollar, worn and tossed,
Rises up, its losses lost,
Fed comments sway the trader's fate,
Decisions made on data's gate.

A shadow cast o'er bank's fair land,
Claims of a grip, Party's strong hand,
Communist whispers, doubts now sown,
Infrastructure's tale is grown.

by Guillemette de Ventadour

a centaur