THE DREADFUL STORY OF WALL STREET HARRIET AND THE DERIVATIVE MATCHES
(The Dreadful Story of Harriet and the Matches, Struwwelpeter)
WilliamBanzai's Subprime Struwwelpeter

It almost makes me cry to tell
What foolish Wall Street Harriet befell.
Mamma Roubini and Nurse Buffet went out one day
And left her all alone at play.
Now, on the table close at hand,
A box of derivative matches chanced to stand;
And kind Mamma and Nurse had told her,
That, if she played with them, they would scold her.
But Wall Street Harriet said: "Oh, what a pity!
For, when they burn, it is so pretty;
They crackle so, and spit, and flame:
Mamma, too, often does the same."
The pussy-cat pundits heard this,
And they began to hiss,
And stretch their claws,
And raise their paws;
"Me-ow," they said, "me-ow, me-ow,
You'll burn to death, if you do so."
But Wall Street Harriet would not take advice:
She lit a box of FWMD matches, it was so nice!
It crackled so, it burned so clear--
Exactly like the picture here.
She jumped for joy and ran about
And was too pleased to put it out.
The Pussy-cats and saw this
And said: "Oh, naughty, naughty Miss!"
And stretched their claws,
And raised their paws:
"'Tis very, very wrong, you know,
Me-ow, me-o, me-ow, me-o,
You will be burnt, if you do so."
And see! oh, what a dreadful thing!
The fire has caught her derivative apron-string;
Her over leveraged apron burns, her securitized arms, her long bonus hair--
She burns all over everywhere.
Then how the pussy-cats did mew--
What else, poor pussies, could they do?
They screamed for help, 'twas all in vain!
So then they said: "We'll scream again;
Make haste, make haste, me-ow, me-ow,
She'll burn to death; we told her so."
So she was burnt, with all her high priced clothes,
And arms, and hands, and eyes, and nose;
Till she had nothing more to lose
Except her little scarlet bailout shoes;
And nothing else but these was found
Among her ashes on the ground.
And when the good cats sat beside
The smoking market ashes, how they cried!