A Wall Street Christmas Fable

'Twas the month before Christmas, when all through “the Street”
Exub’rance was rampant, the bulls were in heat;

The Fed’s words were hung on by traders with care,
In hopes that St. Bernanke soon would be there;

By night they were sleeping all smug in their beds,
While visions of rate relief danced in their heads;

They left the TV on, tuned to CNBC,
In case overnight, a new write-down there’d be;

Next day out on Wall Street there arose such a clatter,
Traders ran from the floor and started to chatter;

Away to the window they flew like a flash,
And left their belongings, but never their cash;

The sun shining bright on the Street paved with gold
Gives the lustre of mid-day to what we behold;

When, what did we hear then, but reins being pulled
On a Mercedes Sleigh, hauled by seven tiny bulls;

With a beard bearing driver, that greatest of men,
We knew in a moment it must be St. Ben;

More rapid than Porsches his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;

"Now, Cashflow! Now, Hedge Fund! Financer and Friedman!
On, Rubin! On Paulson! On, BDO Seidman!

To a new record Dow! To manageable growth!
Now buy away! Buy away! I’ve given my oath!

Inflation be damned, I don't give a holler
What traders abroad do to our sinking dollar!"

As traders that before a Fed Meeting fly,
To take up the averages straight to the sky;

So up to new records St. Ben’s bulls they flew,
With rate cuts in hand, Dow 15,000 in view;

And then, in a twinkling, we heard at the door
Thund’rous bull hooves headed straight for the Floor;

As the trading did halt, we were turning around,
Into the Exchange came St. Ben with a bound;

His dress was quite staid, for he never was loud,
Yet his presence could not fail to gather a crowd;

A handful of tools would he now bring to bear,
So the rise could resume, but minus the scare;

Sartorial Splendor! But not a bit garish!
And woe to the few of those left who were bearish!

Low rates and free money would make buying manic,
And force all the bears into short cov’ring panic;

And the beard of his chin became white as the snow;
As he invited us all to his discount window;

The credit crunch ended as quick as a flash,
As once again everyone was swimming in cash;

New traunches of loans could now be financed,
Once more Private Equity could be romanced;

Securitization would regain its place,
The real estate bubble could resume apace;

A mere wink of Ben’s eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave us to know we had nothing to dread;

For it all was a dream, a nightmare in full
That had almost succeeded to waylay the bull;

Now could the Santa Claus rally return,
Short-sellers a very hard lesson would learn;

And in leaving the Floor, Gentle Ben gave a nod,
To tell us the bad times had been a façade;

And giving a smile, back to DC he rode;
Having all his largesse with benev'lence bestowed;

And I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night."



Epilogue:



Now we turn from our poem to consider the truth
That the Bull Market’s gotten quite long in the tooth;

While those who like fairy tales and believe in St. Ben,
May jump right back into the gambling den,

But Kudlow, be still! And Cramer…please chill!
The Market’s in trouble if we elect Hil

And the fable you’ve read is only as true,
As what flying bulls overhead will drop down on you!


Warren R. Graham
Copyright 2007