Thursday, October 08, 2020

Socialist Sonnet No. 2

  Promises, Promises…

Out of the blue the prophet spoke, he’d seen

The future in all its magnificence.

Much better times to come were not far hence,

For out of the blue he’d conjure the green.


Tomorrow, tomorrow the wind shall blow,

The turbines will turn, then let there be light

Dispelling the present pestilence of night,

When even the poor will bask in the glow.


A world of difference to how things have been

For so long now, changes profound, immense,

For sure the wealth of this nation must grow,

For certain the day after next is bright.

Out of the blue, and not a nuance lost,

The prophet spoke, but kept his fingers crossed.

   D. A. 

 (A bit belated but inspired, if that's the word, by our PM's address to his party faithful the other day.)

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