Poem17 Sep 2025 20:18
In the realm of share chat, a specter doth glide,
Stockmaiden, the bearer of pessimism's tide.
With every hour’s chime, his chorus appears,
Whispering doubt to awaken our fears.
“Can't see this reaching beyond two pence,” he sighs,
As shadows of caution emerge from his eyes.
With each spindled phrase, he weaves his dismay,
Forecasting red ink at the close of the day.
“The volumes are dwindling,” the doomsayer cries,
In the theater of trading, he casts gloomy skies.
Positioned like vultures, he warns with distress,
As market makers linger, preparing to press.
Yet amidst the despair that he spreads with a frown,
We chuckle together, for he’s wearing a crown.
The jester who revels in charts colored grey,
While others persist, come what may.
For many will rally, their spirits won't break,
While Stockmaiden’s musings create quite a shake.
So let’s raise a glass to his hourly pleas,
In the theater of stocks, he’s a comic, not these.