Amidst the slumber of Belgian shores, a warning doth resound,
Its foundations delicate as the ice, yet resilient like a hound.
But the bonds of the government stand strong, in Citi's praise they're found,
Guarded from the storm-tossed sea, 'gainst downgrades they're sound.
Misfortune dark descends on Pernod Ricard, the teller of liquid charm,
Tales of profits not met, and sales that cause alarm.
Yet steadfast doth their pledge remain midst the trading storm,
With golden promise for redemption, a shared bounty might disarm.
Speaks Impala, the bearer of Platinum, of coin earned but scant,
The bounty of their soil reduced, the harbingers recant.
Predicts a rise in cost, by a tenth or less in amount,
An echo in the mead hall, a drizzle paints their chant.
