Politics

Political Supper

Sat in a tree

Looked at the grass

Said, ‘You are free’

Grass looked at the sky

Wandered a branch

Sniffed a white daisy

Laughed at the chance

‘We are all down trodden

Crushed underfoot

Scuffed and ragged

Wherever we take root’

‘Then take up your blades

Field for a day

An army so large

Mercy they’ll say’

The political schemer

Smiled deep and long

The power of words

Could do them no wrong

Grass twitched and rustled

At the suited buffoon

‘You sing from your backside

And you’re well out of tune’