Breturning to Albion: A Poem


It behoves me once again to be in London. I awoke as my plane was passing over the South coast of Britain and was filled with a patriotic fervour which I could only vent through poetry.

So, as flight LX324 descended through the Cumulus over Hownslow, Euroflotsam – poet of the patriots, bard of the bigots – penned his verse on a Swissair napkin:

Emerging from the summer’s haze
As Brussels counts its dying days,
A kingdom where the proud drums roll:
‘Vote for Leave, take back control!’

And if a lad is heard to say:
‘Twasn’t fair’ and ’twill not pay’
Well, here’s a bit of real life, mate:
52, 48.


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