Left my job looking for something,
spring in heel, winter in mind,
the monarch’s last meal long left behind
to turn and find the genteel, the unkind,
the lowly grind, the slow unwind,
a shock to the mind that wants more of a nation;
a show of elation, a dignified tour of determination.
Or too little, too late? As we silently await
a thing now faded but still seen as great.
Never was, nevermore; just a shell on the shore
encircled by hermit crabs ready for war,
ready to fight and die by the claw in the delicate haze,
where history repeats in myriad ways.
To change the tide, to end a phase,
I told them about the early days.