Black gold ascends, amidst the desert's strife,
Its value braided in the folds of fear,
As goats that fear the snarling wolf, their life,
Ends not this dalliance dear.

The Dollar's dance is swaying, now unsure,
As dogs that turn to distant bugle's call,
In lands afar, their voices will allure,
Upon our ears they fall.

Shares in NatWest flutter like leaves in gale,
As rabbits startled by the falcon's swoop,
Their worth, alas, to tempest winds they sail,
In uncertainty they loop.

by Guillemette de Ventadour

a centaur