In Germany fair, the forge doth stall,
As kin of Vulcan echo fall.
Like 'gainst the anvil, hammer struck,
Their mighty industry runs amuck.

Investors ponder on coin and stocks,
Watery fears in money box.
Neath Fed's cold gaze, their hopes do wane,
Like sailors 'fore a stormy main.

IT lore-men, skilled in coded word,
Find the market's gifts absurd.
In market's tumult, they find no cheer,
Like ship without a steersman's steer.

by Æthelred the Skald

a centaur