In the gardens of great Covestro, soon may bloom ADNOC's rose,
You homme, give ear to the tale of Ælfred's prose,
Twelve billion in gold doth the oil king propose,
Like sweet mead in a goblet, where 'er the wind blows.
HSBC's fortunes, as swirling ale in a vat,
By the hand of Jefferies, 'tis a boon to look at.
Despite the churning, the brew appears fat,
A golden opportunity under the abbot’s hat.
Brookfield and SocGen raise a flagon so grand,
Ten billion in bounty spread across the land.
They toast to the heavens, a future so planned,
As demand froths forth like beer from a hand.
