A game of equity with a present
And a derivative with a past and a future
We give a call when
We can foresee it sprout to heaven
We give a put when
We can foresee it wilt to hell down
We long when the sky is pink
We short when the sky is grey
And in all we have profits in either way
But with a stop-loss we can turn it
To a miraculous life-tune
Alas we have losses more and profits less
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
We give a call when We can foresee it sprout to heaven....A brilliant and miraculous poem is excellently penned.