As the Dollar, green in hue, doth rise,
Yet lions in the market keep the prize.
In coat of bear they wear, it's seen,
'Tis a masquerade of currency, keen.
Gilt yields as rabbits, darting, fell,
Where clover of inflation used to swell.
A smaller hop the BoE may choose,
Than bounding forth in larger leaps, confuse.
A snail of oil, traverses price's leaf,
Chinese demand causes gentle grief.
Though Russian vine, tightens the grip,
The balance wavers on market's slip.
