The Law of the Market

(With apologies to the shade of Rudyard Kipling)

Now this is the Law of the market, the wizened old Greybeard spoke,
And the Wolf who shall keep it may prosper, but the Wolf who shall flout it go broke.
For the ‘Madness of Crowds’ is a dictum, oft cited but rarely observed.
And the Strength of the Herd is each member, but the Bane of the Member, the Herd.

Watch daily the Market evolving and look for the signals within,
But in place of what’s called ‘Common Wisdom’, think rather, ‘Original Sin’.
The Jackal may follow the Tiger, but Cub, when Thy whiskers are grown,
Remember the Wolf is a Hunter – and try to think thoughts of Thine own!
When markets have gone parabolic, yet analysts’ targets ascend,
Beware such blind extrapolation; the Trend is not always your Friend.
When Oil hit a hundred they upped it: near one-fifty raised it again,
But now as it falls unrelenting, they cry, “Thirty-five!”, “Twenty-five!!”, “Ten!!!”
And the fabulist’s lure is yet stronger when with vectors and matrices laced.
The calculus seems like a marvel ‘till ten sigmas explode in your face.
For the Past is not Prologue, the Bard said. Had he, too, seen his promised return
Go from ‘alpha’ to ‘beta’ to ‘nada’ with his model caught short by the turn?
Those once seen as Lords of the Jungle – AIG, Lehman, and Bear –
Have Ozymandias inverted: “O Mighty, Thy works are despair!”
When wine bars in Mayfair buzz bullish; when Greenwich projects ever higher,
Take care to sit right next the exit, for Someone is soon to yell, “Fire!”
Then Hindmost shall fall to the Devil as Liquidity’s once boundless seas
Catch even the vessels Titanic in hull-rending grip when they freeze.
If Ye kill midst this Midnight of Leverage, then wake not the woods with Thy bay,
Lest the Sheep ye have shorted grow restive and tax all your profits away.
For Handouts the Foolish will clamour: the Prudent will find no such Voice,
For theirs was a Sin of Omission. How dare they stay solvent by choice?
Nor trust the King’s Men to have knowledge to make Humpty whole once again.
Nor trust the Conceit of the Planners and seven times never trust Ben!
If Wealth could be made in the Print Shop, No Means would be needed for Ends,
But the Worm of Inflation is Slyness, a Poison to all but his Friends.
He once hissed to Woman, “My Dah-ling – your fig leaf isss very las-st year!”
“I’ll get you a loan from Mozillo – no income, no asset-sss – no fear!”
Soon, foolishly flattered was Woman, designer-clad head down to toes,
But Toil all his days fell to Adam when Eden Eve’s Lenders foreclosed.
He cried to the Lord for protection, but his anguish did nothing avail
“Dost think thou art Goldman? “ spake Thunder. “Was farmer e’er ‘too big to fail’?”
So, Cub, when Thy belly lies empty, when Thy guile has not rendered Thee meat,
Return double keen to the Forest, work harder for what Thou wouldst eat.
Rather a Wolf lean and hungry whose stealth has for once not paid off
Than a carrion- eater or sneak-thief – a Jackal, Baboon, or Madoff!

Now this is the Law of the market, the wizened old Greybeard spoke,
And the Wolf who shall keep it may prosper, but the Wolf who shall flout it go broke.
For the ‘Madness of Crowds’ is a dictum, oft cited but rarely observed.
And the Strength of the Herd is each member, but the Bane of the Member, the Herd.

Sean Corrigan aka Wild Goose