"Three million jobs spring, like sprightly pups at play,
Tales of resilience, defying Fed's dismay,
In the span of moons twelve, amidst August's sweltering day,
The economy, like a robust goat, finds its way.

Arm, a wizard of design, weighs gold in great heaps,
Eyeing the stag's prized horn, its ambition leaps,
Aspiring for a crown, where fifty billion creeps,
Like a rabbit poised for sprint, into new bounds it seeps.

Oh, Rosalind of the Walgreens, wears her mantle no more,
In the shadow of three winters, she leaves the company's core,
Like a snail withdrawing, to explore some new shore,
The chapter ends, yet awaits another lore."

by Guillemette de Ventadour

a centaur