The Ballad of Leo Lewis

A limerick crafter is he 

Of no higher fancy could be 

He writes about business 

Without all the stiffness 

Of an Englishman sipping his tea 

He writes for the Financial Times 

About Chinese money – the crimes! 

He’s a bit of a weeb 

But never a pleb 

While he counts up his journalist dimes 

The son of a law scholar prof 

A fine Brit abroad flies aloft 

Urban dirt he is not 

Under a rising sun is his lot 

He’s proper, in an elbow will cough 

Fascinated with all in the East 

His quips about Xi never cease 

He calls him a tiger 

A parent unrivaled 

Leo, can you check yourself please?