Alas, mixed metals in the cradle of Zhao,
As goats tangle horns, yon fear begins to crow.
Worries, the hounds, gnaw on market bone,
Oh, the Chinese wind blows, full of unknown.

Oil, as the rabbit, bounds not far nor high,
Hopeful is the stance, as U.S stars align sky.
Economic words hum, like the evening's song,
In this dance of power, where does the tune belong?

Unexpected is the snail's slow descent,
Inflation drops in Gaul, to March's lament.
Eased are grain and hearth's fire, a calming pure,
Changes stir the broth, of this, we can be sure.

by Guillemette de Ventadour

a centaur