An arhythmic sonnet for Mr. Bernanke

Inside Eccles; they surmise, calculate, our hardship, the quiver of recession. Inflation’s pungency they postulate, will a cut of .5 show compassion?

Christmas shoppers to their beseeching eyes
Swell the tills, as aides to scanty credit,
A monster that through hubris we surmise
Left many a lender holding debit

Not today, nor later will a write-down,
Fully expose as a fiend of wall street
For now they will only seek to confound
They are hidden demons, fickle and fleet

The twine of Bernanke’s tightrope snarls, tears,
The woes of inflation and weaker sales
Guide us to Hades’ market of bears
Will he conjure famine from whence glut hails?

Pray Ben be cautious to our sentiment
Hack with your cleaver, let the heir repent