In the realm of shillings and cents, alas, the Euro bends,
With the dollar it contends, on the ECB depends.
Like a vintage too extravagant, the taste of wealth descends,
We hail the Brewmaster, to whom hope ascends.
Across the vast eastern expanse, where the dragon tends,
Share market's sluggish dance, Beijing's mirth now suspends.
As ale goes flat in weary stance, festive froth unbends,
In the tavern of prosperity, no song its mirth extends.
Lo! Biocredits come like heavenly mead, Earth's saviour it portends,
But market's far, a barren seed, this path in prudence ends.
In the abbey of mother nature, mighty tasks one attends,
Pour thy coin and care like wine, for on us she depends.
