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Australian poet, Carona virus stock market crash, GFC stock market crash, poem, sonnet, Spenserian sonnet, Stock market crashes
๐๐๐ฌ๐ญ ๐๐๐ฒ
Stunned silence as begins the final fall.
It is the last day of the fatal crash.
The players huddle, backs against the wall.
Their energy is spent; theyโre out of cash;
Yet all theyโve bought is now but smoking ash.
They watch the screens light up; each shakes his head.
The plunging numbers redden like a rash.
They stare, incredulous, their eyes like lead.
Their tongues are stilled and not a word is said,
But each is thinking โ how can this be so?
Is this the final rattle? Is it dead?
Then comes another sickening body-blow.
No doubt the worst that some have ever seen;
Tomorrow, slow, will swell a tide of green.
โ D.N. OโBrien