By: Wes Messamore
Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the world
Every heart was stirring, as a nightmare unfurled.
The stocks on the ticker were watched with care,
In hopes that Bernanke soon would be there.
The traders were restless, sprawled out in their beds,
While visions of stimulus danced in their heads.
And those of us who’d already learned history’s lesson,
Bought silver and gold to wait out the depression.
When across the Atlantic there arose such a clatter,
I checked ZeroHedge to see what was the matter.
Away with the Euro they did in a flash,
A modern economy now rubble and ash.
The stock market plunged to a new awful low,
As the Euro collapse threatened to grow.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But the Federal Reserve and eight financiers.
With a bearded old chairman to loan cash again,
I knew in a moment it must be St Ben.
More rapid than eagles his financiers came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!
Read the rest of my poem at The Silver Underground.
Editor in Chief, THL
Articles | Author's Page