Of GSK's yearend goals, they speak with cheer,
Profit up by fifteen, 'tis clear.
Their profit doth increase, a sign divine,
Like ale that's brewed from barley fine.

As the year ends, bond investors pine,
Hoping for a recovery, sweet as wine.
A dreadful autumn hath passed, 'tis true,
Yet hope springs anew, as the morning dew.

Orsted, from yon U.S projects, takes leave,
A heavy blow, they nobly grieve.
Expensive winds, delays and more,
Dashed hopes, like a ship stricken on the shore.

by Brother Arnulfus

a centaur