A rise in the bond is on morrow's morn,
Bounty from eighty-four to a hundred drawn.
Like rabbits increase in green spring's light,
Yet redemptions fall as owls silent in night.

Workers in distant shore, arm in arm unite,
Two-week strike, they seek for fair plight.
Like loyal hounds, in pack they rise,
Under southern stars, echo their cries.

Metals tumble, like leaves descend,
In strong dollar's wake, their value bend.
Sure as the snail retreats in sun's glare,
The interest-rate's specter provokes dread and despair.

by Guillemette de Ventadour

a centaur