In market's murky veil, the oil doth wane,
With whispers of a pact 'tween foes of yore.
As weekly loss emerges, crude winds flail,
For fresh supplies, the world may soon explore.
The drought in China's realm its snares extend,
And yonder, metals rise in London's morn.
With aluminium's price, an upward trend,
From nature's cruel grasp, is tightly worn.
Lo, Hafize Gaye, in Turkish halls of might,
To Central Bank's high seat, she now ascends,
A nod to more-orthodox ways in sight,
As First Republic's ghost her path attends.
