The golden fleece doth climb, with morn's embrace,
On East's first dawn, keen eyes trace its grand weight.
In halls of power and growth, they lie in wait,
For leaf of trade to reveal its solemn face.

Behold, the oil doth falter in its gait,
As Eastern dragons whimper in vain chase.
Will they quench their thirst in a market place,
Or to the U.S. yield their heavy freight?

Dollar, once a king, doth weaken in state,
Looked upon by investors with slight distaste.
Yet, in UniCredit's cautious forecast,
A dimmed horizon they anticipate.

by Conchobar mac Dubhthach

a centaur