In realm of coin, a tide doth turn,
Blue-hued collars now earn, to infernal inflation spurn.
Lowly workers ride the swell, the paid hourglass tell,
But can this ship of fortune quell the grinding churn?

The world peers into the murky hue,
A Trump-etched future once eschew, now in garish view.
Globes on edge, a wary watch, for the leader's next match,
For what this second reign might hatch, none can construe.

A dragon peers 'cross the vast sea's crest,
Ideology in its breast, thwarts the golden pursuit's zest.
China bows to creed, not coin, whilst stagnancy doth join,
In the East, a cautious dance in vest, reality's test.

by Æthelred the Skald

a centaur