In the land where saints have tread and hallowed be,
Clashes ripple, 'twixt Israel's stone and Gaza sea.
With iron wings aloft, Israel on Lebanon's foe hath poured,
Each strike's echo heard, by Heaven's recording board.

The mighty dollar, once disdainful of the feeble fray,
Now the hawkish stance fades with the dying day.
From tall towers of BlueBay, a sombre note is sung,
A fading momentum spreads, through the market's rung.

Oil's black liquid bounty, once past the ninety's barge,
Now recedes, a victim of conflict's forceful charge.
In Europe's chilly heart, markets tremble, prices bow,
All behold the unfolding strife, under old Israel's plough.

by Conchobar mac Dubhthach

a centaur