Party's Over? Poem by Tor Magnor Solvang

Numbers gleamed, a shining sight,
He saw them bright, in morning light.
'Fantastic! ' he declared with glee,
A price of oil, too low for thee.

He'd launched attacks, a bold command,
Expected prices to expand.
But nope, they stayed, a gentle tide,
A victory he couldn't hide.

Yet whispers rise, a different tune,
Of folks beneath the summer moon.
Whose pockets ache, whose budgets strain,
While numbers dance, and fears remain.

The world outside, a busy hum,
With worries that have overcome.
But in his hall, a golden haze,
He counts his wins, in sunlit days.

The show goes on, the curtain calls,
Beyond these gilded, silent walls.
A final act, the stage is set,
The last 'Amen, ' and then, 'Forget."