From o'er the sea of commerce comes a call,
Eurozone yields, they now doth fall.
For PMI data we await with bated breath,
A sweet ale sipped gainst the specter of death.

Puma, strong in vision, weak in gain,
Feels the pinch of currency's bane.
Yet from the vine of 2023 they pluck no fear,
Their sight clear as communion bread and cheer.

Of Barclays now I sing a bitter brew,
Lower margins turn the investor's face askew.
Shares tumble like saints from grace so high,
Net interest's song becomes a sigh.

by Brother Arnulfus

a centaur