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?