Verily, Aviva doth sing a song of gain,
In the half of the year, riches hath rained,
Expecting to exceed their targets fain,
Ale flows aplenty, for fortune hath been ordained.
Tesla of yore, maker of carriage so fine,
Hath made their steeds cheaper in the land of Chin,
First the Y and then S and X in line,
As barrels of ale, their stock doth begin to thin.
Ah! Sterling upsurges in worth so great,
UK’s purse swells, inflation's steady rate,
The tapsters of the Bank, rates elevate,
Just like good ale, it doth exhilarate.
