Tuesday, 23 April 2013
English on St George's Day
Some Raspberry Swirls have come our way
Like George's dragon, the biscuits we'll slay
as merry tunes on our lutes we play
A day to be English, what does that mean?
Rainy summer days and fields of green?
Inventors of team games that we never seem to win
so we drown our collective sorrows down ye old county inn?
Many very different people are trying to fit in
our new and multi-cultural, modern Britain
Are we English, are we British, do we come from the UK?
No matter, we all hail from Blighty on this bright St George's Day!
The Martyrdom of St George
By the waters of the Thames you sat down and wept
while all around the rich and famous slept.
Yes you, gentle and compassionate George Osbourne,
you and only you came to grieve and mourn
at the coffin of your mentor Mrs Thatcher,
although - you know it's coming- you could never match her
in her certainties and her convictions
though these again are probably just fictions.
You do, poor George, seem isolated and sad,
stuck with a plan that's not just bad,
but really, like you, quite barking mad.
You've locked-in syndrome, trapped in a policy
of more and still more austerity,
that brings us less and less prosperity.
But now the pound has dropped a notch
and lost its treasured triple A-star rating
your kindly colleagues have set about debating,
Soon they'll be queueing to kick you in the crotch.