Thence gold, once bright as Baldur's ray, doth lose its gleam in weary light,
U.S. forges manpower fierce, whilst China curbs its golden might.
As April's promise pales, and Midgard sees the dwindling flame,
In the market's stormy seas, it's seen; naught gold can stay the same.
Europe, by turmoil tempest-tossed, her stocks and currency do fall,
As far-right ravens 'mongst the eiders rise, whispering of Ragnorok's call.
Yet Macron's legion falters neath the crushing weight of harsh defeat,
Lands once united, they fracture swift, to the drum of discord's beat.
France, fair land of Frigg and Frey, in bonds and debt she's caught,
Her strength tested by early vote, a heated Mimir's thought.
Winds of change howl in the courts, a storm that thus portends,
A feast for Fenrir in her fall, as uncertainty ascends.
