When big-four brokers stoop to folly,
and find that lines of credit can
incur a fine, dark melancholy
increases when they’re in the can!
What [s]m]art succeeds, and can discover
a loophole letting some assign
the blame while shame sends some to cover,
and forces others to resign?
When die is cast and Daiwa tinkers
with statements false meant to mislay,
do Yankee bankers put on blinkers,
or is the Devil then to pay?
The only way to get a tip on
an exit sure when credit’s nippy,
is bank upon the Bank of Nippon,
or, cutting losses, turn a hippy.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem