Goddess of Grain, standing among the clouds,
Atop the tower called the Board of Trade,
One hundred years, almost, you’ve watched the crowds
That fill the streets below, like a parade
Of hungry life, the market-makers hustling,
The lawyers squabbling as the deals get made,
And back behind the scene, the bankers bustling
To pile the money up, and then to lend it
All out again in hopes of getting more.
Life must go on - unless you want to end it -
It must keep cycling through a central core:
Production and exchange keep people fed,
The bounty of the harvest widely spread.
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