In lands afar or potentate's zone,
In ten-year Bunds, yields descendeth lone,
Two to five, the range Morgan chime,
German gales doth blow, lower realms soon climb.
Aloft betide the dauntless MTU,
Margin rise, in winds they steer anew,
Eight hundred millions in twenty-three,
Harbinger of aero splendor, free.
Winds apropos amid AI and Fed,
By tech-stock force, discord begets dread,
In night-gloaming are we vestiges,
Or dawn's break, betwixt dreams and hedges?
