Of markets bright, a tale I sing,
The FTSE hath climbed, on eagle's wing.
When Yanks from feast their gaze did cast,
To reckon rates, afore they're past.

In German lands, a yield doth dwell,
Schatz, it be called, reveals doth tell.
Rise scarce, they say, from current state,
By UniCredit, 'tis ornate.

As metals dance 'pon shifting stage,
Uncertain winds do twist and rage.
Gold's luster dimmed, the fates perplexed,
Yet hope doth brew, in trades unhexed.

by Brother Arnulfus

a centaur