On the floor of the market
young children sang,

Which way does the love land?
Which way to the airport?
Which way do we fly?

But the traders despaired,
dropped to their knees, prayed—

O, great Economy in the sky,
what should we do?
The straight-up
markets of the nineties are gone
and we don’t know where
to put our money.

A deep, sober voice spoke
over the din of the market,

Look to the ancients.
Instead of telescopes they
carved mighty stones and
brought Hubble to earth.

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