Of our great Empire's ever-whiter soul,
We certainly cannot let what we do
Be limited by what is merely true.
We thus declare a mystic, phantom border
To call the Irish Free State back to order,
And guide recalcitrant and foreign nations
To better knowledge of their obligations.
Today's technology, we do admit,
For our great purpose is as yet unfit;
Yet with our wizard spunk we'll sort things out
By waving our appendages about.
Shall not the glory of these wondrous acts
Bring triumph over Brussels, fear, and facts?
© Philip Challinor
Philip Challinor posts fiction, satire and assorted grumbles at http://thecurmudgeonly.blogspot.co.uk/ His longer fiction is available at http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/challinor07