From the core of the sovereign realm, a tale I do unveil,
A goat has cropped the greens, the count so hearty, hale.
Bonds of Eurozone in twilight's glance ahead,
Barclays finds the past outmatched, a year old web, it shed.

In the meadow's tender care, the hare tips forth to rise,
Oil, the lifeblood, flows, its gain a sweet surprise.
From Arabia and Russia, the chosen cuts have lined,
In storied troves, they flicker, a fortune well designed.

Beneath the moon, the snail trails gold, the gleaming path it threads,
Base and noble metals stirred, as dollar softly treads.
From the vault of the imperial East, support for brick and wheel,
Kindles demand, brightness sways, as market worries heal.

by Guillemette de Ventadour

a centaur