Of Chinas boon in wine of tax so sweet,
For carriages electric, they promote,
A bounty fair, for four years shall it meet,
To guide the folk in this new path remote.

A tale, alas, of FTSE's woeful fall,
As housebuilders lament with bitter groan,
The rise of rates ignites a dreary pall,
The mortgage-held in darkness, left alone.

To gold's exalted state we turn our eyes,
Through years of turmoil and uncertain gales,
For when the Fed's rate-hiking path doth lie,
This precious shade shall shine o'er fleeting tales.

by Brother Arnulfus

a centaur