In Crimea's realm, a bridge once strong,
Struck by unseen wrath in dawn's song,
Russian route, by Ukrainians prick'd,
Twice smitten, its might and vigour lick'd.

In London's heart where metals slip,
China's growth doth lose its grip.
Questions rise with morning's tide,
Disquiet doth in data hide.

From Eastern land, the forecasts call,
Upon deaf ears, the black gold falls.
Libyan wells, once silent, chatter,
China's economy, their mad hatter.

by Æthelred the Skald

a centaur