Of gilts and yields, a tale I shall unveil,
Weak inflation's brew hath made them frail.
No need for BOE's stern gaze,
Increased rates wait for another day's blaze.

In the morn, as roosters crow, Barratt's shares did grow,
Taylor Wimpey and Persimmon too, basking in inflation's low glow.
A boon to builders, this surprise win,
With lesser dread, they pour ale and grin.

The dollar hovers, its fate tied to Fed's refrain,
Hints of further rise could be its gain.
Though rate's stead seems to hold sway,
Ye olde greenback might yet have its day.

by Brother Arnulfus

a centaur