In Temasek's court the bards do tell,
Of global tremors, men know well.
The pace of gold to moderate,
For earth's vast riches tremble late.

The oil springs in the Chinese land,
Do dance anew at the sovereign's hand.
The hopes of many soar sublime,
Upon the wings of Eastern clime.

In London's heart the metals lie,
As China's promise paints the sky.
A feeble dollar in the twilight cast,
Beneath the East, its shadow vast.

by Conchobar mac Dubhthach

a centaur