From across the ocean vast and grand,
As serpents coil, the prices stand.
Interest's frost doth chill the trade,
Whilst Thor's might hath scarce abated.
As tensions ease, the gold doth fall,
Not glittering as Heimdall's hall.
To Loki's smile, the safe-haven wanes,
And Midgard's gaze on inflation remains.
In the hall of the Euro Bank,
Bondsmen rejoice, to Odin, give thanks.
The Norns weave news of earnings delight,
And France's credit gleams in the night.
