Nordea's guidance, a lure of seraph's lure,
In quarters twain, profits didst soar.
'Bove fifteen percent is equity's return,
In dreams of figures, the numbers churn.

Yet Richemont's fortunes take a softer turn,
Sales in billions, yet less than yearn.
In orient strong, where currency leaps,
Americas humble, in quiet sleeps.

Oh, grievous tale, AngloPlat in strife,
In palladium's shadows, earnings rife.
Forecast of sliding, seventy-five,
Exchange weeps softly, sales barely thrive.

by Conchobar mac Dubhthach

a centaur