THE POLITICAL LIAR

A verse about a contemptible politician

The lies he told at sunset

came to haunt him come the morn

when with the rising sunlight

Came the postman, and the dawn.

The writing on the envelope

was ornate italic script

So care was needed when opening

In case the letter ripped.

It was a message from Her Maj,

A spirited wise queen,

But few there are in all this land

Have her wrinkled wisdom seen.

He read the letter top to end,

His face was drained of blood,

When he read the royal judgement

And he wretchedly understood.

“I am your queen and you have lied,”

The letter royally said,

“And when that’s done it’s traditional

I need to lop your head.

“There is a dungeon dark and deep

Where you’ll wait before an axe

Arrives from lands across the seas

And you’ve paid the import tax.”

The words were writ, the order made,

The executioner came,

The axe was sharpened on a stone

The prisoner felt true shame.

His head was placed upon a block,

The queen stood by his side,

“This is the fate of all who lie,”

She said as Boris cried.

His tears full flood, the axe fell true,

His head felt the briefest pain

But dead eyes in a deader head

Will never weep again…

And that, my friends is the kind of thing

We tellers of tales might dream,

As with red blood the river of lies

Becomes an honest little stream.

© Peter Rogerson 24.10.19