On waves of wealth, the sea of oil doth rise,
In face of danger known, and shadows creeping,
Though solid coin of realm 'gainst such defies,
In greener pastures, bounty we are reaping.

The sterling half-crown teeters on a blade,
A threat of early cut doth breed disquiet.
The dollar, daunting, in the balance weighed,
A pot of woe, no valiant heart shall buy it.

In Singapore, a tale of bounty told,
The beast of inflation quickens its gait.
A feast's dear cost, the price of life is sold,
The wait for ease of purse, 'twill hold in weight.

by Æthelred the Skald

a centaur