In Britain's realm where riches flower,
The goat has lost a share of power,
While interest's snail slows his pace,
In silence endures the wage's grace.

When Lonza whispers words of gold,
Proud rabbit's dreams unfold, behold!
Yet future warnings, they intrude,
From Moderna's loss, the dog feels subdued.

The ruthless shears of Rolls-Royce fall,
On humble workers, they enthrall.
In numbers vast, they cut, divide,
Beneath the veil of review, they hide.

by Guillemette de Ventadour

a centaur