‘Twas The Week Before Christmas in the Markets

‘Twas the week before Christmas, when all through the markets

Not a stock was volatile, not even a financial;

The stocks were all traded with care,

In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;

The traders were bullish all snug in their bets,

While visions of profits danced in their heads;

And the ECB planning their ‘bailout’ , and me shorting the trend,

Had just settled down for the bulls run to end,

When out on the blue there arose such a clatter,

I sprang from my trading desk to see what was the matter.

Away to the trading platform I flew like a flash,

Opened the the real time news window and threw up the cash.

The ECB on the day of the new-fallen doom

Gave a bluster of loans to banks about to enter their tomb,

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,

But a miniature Quantative Easing, and the reduction of fear,

With a little old printing press, so lively and quick,

I knew in a moment the needed money would be loaned, banks could take their pick,

More rapid than eagles their solution came,

And the ECB whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;

“Now, Deutche! now, UBS! now, Barclays’s and ING!

On, Societe General! on HBOS! on Fortis!,  Credit Suisse and Dexia !

To the top of the lenders! to the top of the worry wall!

Now loan away! loan away! loan away all!”

So reversing the downtrend and now reversing they flew,

With the ECB full of Euros, and the banks now too.

And then, in a twinkling, I saw on the chart,

The price strength and uptrend was to start.

As I drew in my head, and was turning around,

Up prices went with a bound.

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,

And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;

A bundle of Euros he had flung on his back,

And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.

His eyes — how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!

His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,

And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow;

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,

And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath;

He had a broad face and a little round belly,

That shook, when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly.

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,

And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,

Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,

And filled all the traders stockings; then turned with a jerk,

And laying his finger aside of his nose,

And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,

And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.

But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,

“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night, the Santa Rally had begun, to the bulls delight”