"We'll all be rooned," said Hanrahan
He sounded most forlorn
Outside the ASX while trade began
One chilly Monday morn.
The investors stood around about,
Coat-collars to the ears,
And talked of shares and interest rates
As they had done for years.
"It's lookin' crook," said Daniel Croke;
"Bedad, it's cruke, me lad
For never since the GFC
Had investing been so bad."
"It's bad, all right," said young Whitehead
With timing so sublime
As everyone in chorus said
"It's different this time".
And so around the chorus ran
"The market's stuffed, no doubt."
"We'll all be rooned," said Hanrahan,
"Before the year is out.
"The shares have crashed; ye'll have your work
To save your hard earned cash;
From here way out to Back-O'-Bourke
They're talkin' 'bout the crash".
"They're cryin' for rate cuts," he said,
"They've gone and lost their nerve."
The investors scratched their heads,
And awaited the Reserve.
"There won't be growth, in any case,
Not a dollar to be made;
The market's rigged – a gambler's place
What is a guy to trade?"
"If shares don't spike this month," said Dan,
And cleared his throat to speak –
"We'll all be rooned," said Hanrahan, "
If rates don't fall this week."
A heavy silence seemed to spread
O'er all – it was a sign
As everyone in chorus said
"It's different this time".
"We want a small rate cut, we do,"
O'Neil observed at last;
But Croke "maintained" we wanted two
To put the danger past.
"If we don't get 0.5%, man,
Or more to break this drought,
We'll all be rooned," said Hanrahan,
"Before the year is out."
In Glenn's good time down came the rates;
And all the afternoon
In boardrooms of investment banks in town
They sang a happy tune.
And speculation continued still,
And lightsome, gladsome elves
On dripping spout and window-sill
Kept talking to themselves.
'Twas exuberance all day long,
A-singing at its work,
Till every cabbie took up the song
Way out to Back-O'-Bourke.
And sure as sure wages ran,
Then inflation overtop;
"We'll all be rooned," said Hanrahan,
"If these rate cuts don't stop."
And stop they did, in Glenn's good time:
And spring came in to fold
A mantle o'er the hills sublime
Fortunes made in gold.
And days went by as good times rolled,
With drinking from the cup,
As shares and bonds and bars of gold,
They went nowhere but up.
And, oh, the smiles on every face,
As happy guy and girl
Winning the share market race
Jumped online to buy and sell.
While round the bar well dressed and fed
They drank the finest wine,
As everyone in chorus said
"It's different this time".
"There'll be a crash for sure, me man,
There will, without a doubt;
We'll all be rooned," said Hanrahan,
"Before the year is out".
… With apologies to bush poet John O'Brien, whose poem "Said Hanrahan" originally spoke of the doomsayers who seemed to delight in predicting drought, then flood – all the while missing the point that farmers were successful despite – not in the absence of – the occasional meteorological extreme.
Hopefully our capital-F Foolish analogy is clear.
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