A tune to the Sachs of Goldman, their earnings now in light,
Fourth quarters bearing gold, in analysts' sight,
Verily, the season of gain doth crest,
In this marketplace of fervour and incessant quest.
Next, the sovereign dollar, amidst ebbing stocks doth tower,
Surviving Trump's attempted fall, within the fatal hour,
Economies of orient lands, their growth doth slow,
Yet, market hearts scarce feel the blow.
Lastly, Swatch, the clockmaker, its profits lost in time,
To the Eastern realm's diminished chime.
Yet, brave do they face the year, fraught with dismay,
In pursuit of tomorrow, come what may.
