Upon China's land, the goat treads slow,
Its stride is faltering, unsure.
A feast for future, now we sow,
Yet growth, it seems, is now obscure.

Oh, hog of BASF, in plight,
Lower yields have caused thee harm.
In autumn's chill, find thy light,
Though uncertain rings the alarm.

Mere snails were they, in Bankman's claim,
Unfortunate larks, 'twas their guise.
Yet, through the holes of deceit, roams blame,
In their downfall, truth oft lies.

by Guillemette de Ventadour

a centaur