Twas the Night before Chritmas,
And all round the Board,
The trade had all slowed up,
The grain was all stored.

Bean counters and clerks
all sat at their posts,
With thoughts of the family,
They soon would play hosts.

When all round the building
There rose such a clatter,
The staff, clerks and traders
Woke up their grey matter,

Just out of no where
The phones went berserk,
It seems there was business
We’ d all have to work,

The mills were all bidding
The exports got hot
The trucks and the trains,
All wanted a shot.

It seems that some Broker
Had hit all the asks
The bid was still chasing
More grain was the task

The phones kept on ringing
The trade wasn’t done,
And then the news hit
Is was all from some “FUND”

Not China, nor Russia,
Not even a major,
But a sovereign backed Hedge Fund
Making a wager.

He’d maxed out his limits,
With futures and swaps,
And still had more money
To spend on this crop.

It traded and traded,
He bought all the Grain
He planned to get longer
And reap some huge gain.

We turned it all over,
The wheat , beans and corn,
The fund owned it all now
Like sheep, we’d been shorn.

The game it was over,
Our courts would now hear,
How greed by our markets,
Let this entity spear,

The Heart of our food,
Our system is broke,
Speculation, commissions,
THEY THINK IT’S A JOKE!