In the court, golden treasures beckon high,
As vikings dream 'pon an interest-rate cut nigh.
Thy softer data, spun as Æsir's lore,
Doth raise the hopes, 'twill touch the sky once more.

O'er wavering seas, dark oil prices climb,
Tethered in a range, yet captive of time.
As OPEC preps its next mighty deed,
Three paths reveal, from which one shall proceed.

Under moon's soft glow, Keywords shares take flight,
EQT's whisper'd words ignite the night.
A takeover looms, worth billions in gold,
Another exile from London's Exchange hold.

by Æthelred the Skald

a centaur