To the dance of commerce doth each metal sway,
Base and gold in twain, as the market's play.
Base doth rise, whilst gold with worry slips,
For fear of the Fed and its tightening grips.

Oil, precious nectar, doth ascend so high,
As its measured droplets in short supply.
Eyes turn to OPEC, the court of crude,
Awaiting signs of a policy renewed.

The dollar, once mighty, doth falter slight,
Yet the fall lacks conviction in market's sight.
Tis not enough to sing of trends descending,
Say the wise at UniCredit, their caution lending.

by Conchobar mac Dubhthach

a centaur