Shades Of The Slump After Paul Revere's Ride Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Poem by Jonathan ROBIN

Hearken investor and you shall hear
of what can happen when credit is dear,
of cash crash replaying the twenty-nine slump
as the global economy down in the dump
sees collateral damages worldwide appear.

Hear of history echoed two thousand and eight,
of Fannie Mae, Freddie Mac, finding too late
fond fund bubble burst that had seemed once to span
wide world with its laissez-faire backed by Greenspan.
Revered dollar declined, little left to bear bait.

All those who put trust in the system were caught
with their trousers rolled down, were bull meat for bears short,
while collateral damage from Wall Street did ripple,
like hurricane Ike or tsunami to cripple
those unfortunates who into bear markets bought.

'With Lehmann gone bust and the thundering herd
of Merrill, Lynch, Pierce, Fenner, Smith to the Bank
of America within a short week-end transferred
AIG, too, extended a poison pill plank,
what will remain? ' said poor pension fund nerd.

Trader said to his partner, 'Should stockmarket sink
it is likely to push us right over the brink,
but should there unto us come a pleasant surprise,
should the market bounce back after so many lies,
after twelve sessions loss, should the share index rise,
and shouts of rejoicing break out all around,
then ring the red telephone right by my desk
that I may start punting in yet one more risk.'

Then he said 'au revoir' and with trembling paw
departed to drink at nearby whisky bar.
He no longer found courage back home to creep,
but along the broad bridge with the fall so steep
he wandered alone, a sad tryst to keep,
wondering whether to laugh or to weep,
the broker stretched out on a small bench to sleep.
Day dawned, timid sun rose from over the sea,
discovered him there, through the dank fog misty.

Ten o'clock struck and the deep boom of doom
echoed to all who stall, fall with bust boom.
Five hours more work in the sick school of spec,
one last attempt to stave of the dire wreck.
But alas and alack, it was not to occur,
and the shiny red telephone never did whirr.
His hopelessness homed before clock struck one,
adieu to staff force, recourse to the gun:
with never a thought for the beautiful sun!