In the heart of the bustling city streets,
Where fortunes are made and dreams compete,
The market whispers secrets old and new,
In the dance of gold, the world in view.

Shadows of ambition rise and fall,
In the corridors of power’s call.
The wealthy thrive, the poor lament,
In capitalism’s grip, dreams are spent.

A coin’s edge sharp, it cuts through time,
Creating kings and tales sublime.
Yet, in its wake, a trail of tears,
For some, it brings a flood of fears.

But still, the market sings its song,
Of hope, of loss, both right and wrong.
In every trade, a story’s spun,
Under the watchful, setting sun.