In Portuguese lands where the sea doth kiss the shore,
The cost of bonds they rise, a heralder of fiscal war.
S&P's decree hath stirred the market's core,
A- rating brings a heavier load to bear, 'tis lore.

Then from the shores of Henkel, a siren's cry is raised,
Sales growth doth falter, investors left amazed.
The price of wares holds still, while foreign currencies are phased,
A mighty tempest brews, and the market's brow is creased.

From China, land of eastern dragons, a tale is spun,
The Premier's words silenced, as the "Two Sessions" run.
A tradition broken as the setting sun,
Silent Tyr's heavenly hall, the press conference undone.

by Æthelred the Skald

a centaur