Like goats in high pastures, they climb,
As stock futures edge to sublime,
Toward inflation's cruel snare,
In July's burnished glare.
Again, the goats thither incline,
Stock futures in a daring climb,
A snail's blink to Wednesday's reveal,
Under the summer's golden wheel.
The rabbit in her burrow keen,
Awaits the data yet unseen.
Gilt yields steady in their keep,
While U.K. labour's secrets sleep.
