On the isle of markets, a tempest doth brew,
Neath the shadow of the Dragon, the metals once knew.
Values of ore, like waves on the sea,
In the face of turmoil, never stationary.

A tale of bonds, resilient and staid,
By the might of the Bund, a path is laid.
Yields may rise, like a storm beyond the fjords,
Yet success needs the favor of benevolent lords.

Through lands afar, news of Foxconn's plight,
In the second-quarter battle, showing lesser might.
Revenue falls like the winter's chilled rain,
Margins slip, carving a path of pain.

by Æthelred the Skald

a centaur