If only the Future was prescient,
It would have sold its garments,
Skipped paying its rent
And bribed the Present
To keep its presents.
We miss what the omens portend,
Or we are warned but defend
The people that tend
To rudely commend
What Honour can’t commend.
We’ll look back on the campaign,
Grin or smirk at fun refrains
And debate our gain
In the middling reign
Of who deigns-to-reign.
This is the nature of our politics,
Mothered by a crafty Public
Who acclaim the magic
Of rulers’ treat and trick
For toxic treats and basic tricks.
