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by Stephen Ellams

There I am, distorted in a whiskey glass
Like one of those cylindrical reflections
Of Bonnie Prince Charlie
Whose truth remains hidden
Until solemn toast is given

There it is, the irreconcilable past
In a perpetual state of mourning
Soused and lamenting
Our crossbarred revolution
Sadly kilted in failure

There you are, in your fake Highland garb
Another bromide remark, duly inflicted
Upon the naif laity
Aye, “that which unites us”
We are not cut from the same cloth

There we are, to the winner go the spoils
Though I am not long of this political world
There will be more epic battles
More raising of Tory castles
More battering at the walls

Copyright © 2016 by Stephen Ellams

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