A tarnished crown doth the Swedish bear,
Feeling the Euro's relentless glare.
By Riksbank's hand, rates are spun,
Yet market hopes, undone, undone.

Upon the tides of fortune's creed,
Crude oil's chances do recede.
With interest high, the flames may wane,
Stalling the black sea's rich domain.

Last, behold the dollar's might,
Turning e'en metal's luster slight.
Hawkish day doth cast its pall,
On precious gold and copper's thrall.

by Æthelred the Skald

a centaur