Of sable liquid so absorbed in greed,
In Far East land, demand doth surely bleed.
An eight percent descent the scribes decreed,
Upon the roiling market, heed this deed.
Next stanza surely yeasts a bitter brew,
Of German aid to Ukraine, no longer due.
The trumpet's call is silenced on review,
In frosty heart of Berlin this did accrue.
Lastly, hear of seven-and-eleven's plight,
Canadian suitors ask to claim their right.
A dance of commerce in the moon’s twilight,
Vying for the hand 'neath neon light.
