Ode on a Grecian crisis-- Dog, R.L.

 Thou totally ravish'd bride of inflation,

Thou foster child of silent Fed critics and too long depressed interest rates;

Sylvan economist, who canst thus express,

A flowery tale more bitter than our rhyme;

What paper-fring'd legend haunts about thy shapeless fiat,

Of elites and unwashed masses... or both.  Whatever.

In Tempe, Arizona, and the Cajun Bayou,

Men, gods, maidens;

In mad pursuit of an affordable price, struggling to escape,

As their money gets flushed down the pipes, to plumbers' wild ecstasy at inflated off-hours rates.

Prices are high, but those yet to come,

Are higher still; therefore ye dovish policy, dither on;

Not to the rational ear, but more a-fear'd,

Whine to the unwashed masses, blatherings of no tone:

Economically illiterate youth beneath... fuck, we've chopped down all the trees, ain't no more leaves;

Their songs are all shit; I'm getting off track.

Bold Regulator (the rest, my unmeter'd ass can kiss),

Though nowhere near thy goal yet, worry, do not grieve;

Bitcoin is bullshit, fading, to thy bliss,

For ever wilt thou stabilize, and it be NAIR(u)!

        -- by Rufus Lorenzo Dog