The Red wall fell, whatever shall folk do?
And yet, although the seats were rearranged
The voters soon found out nothing had changed,
Even if the language was somewhat Blue.
Perhaps a Liberal wash of yellow might
Lighten prospects, or prove a washout.
Whatever the colour, there’s surely no doubt
Without a real change the future’s not bright.
The Greens promise a profound schism
With the old order, a radical stance,
But then succumb to a Scottish romance
Of populist, petty nationalism.
For workers to wrest the world from their bosses,
It’ll take more than swapping ballot box crosses.