Within the market's lively court, the dollar holds fame,
A saga of its steep ascent, its valor remains the same.
Even if the surveys falter, draught of losses shall not claim,
For DZ's wise seers foretell no reversal in its game.
Lo, the Eurozone doth stir, its bond yields arise,
E'er higher they shall grace the sky, the ECB surmise.
The hawk's word in Handelsblatt, wisdom thus apprise,
Forecasting an abiding high, ere the fall guile lies.
In the face of storm's fierce breath and trouble in the sky,
Norwegian Air, on wings of faith, hath chosen to fly high.
Up by seven full points three, their fortunes seem to lie,
In autumn's book of reservations, waning not but nigh.
