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Oh, to be in England 
Now that April's showers have gone
And whoever wakes in England
Sees, some morning, aware,    
Deep division or apalling apathy almost everywhere,
Most do not applaud at funerals or turn their back,
Do we not now have a premier posthumously promoted as semi-monarch after she was sacked
Giving politicos too much credit and too much slack,
Scepticism is fine but cynicism is now so divine:
Some hate yellow, April's standard true, as some hate daffodils or tulips true,
While others lawns, preaching gravel out of the pit or road stone grey fit for a winter's day,
In England - now!
And after April, when no Mayday follows as this would be fun and Left wing to boot,
No time to see the hawthorns flower and cherries their glorious bloom!
Hark! the blossoming of shrugging shoulders as we just missed another recession,
Where nought points have the power of a gleeful Spring breeze through the burgeoning leafy tresses,
Hark, where the stock market booms an hedge funds fly,
Leans to loud delights as millions unemployed or underemplyment their duty and their life though not in clover - 
That's wise celebrity no predecessors could ever capture their first fine careless rapture
That only reform could force their capture!
And the fields look rough with UKIP's new/old blooms
All will be fine when the Fifteen Rebellion comes in hoary dew again
The little simple backward dower
Far duller than any too gaudy liberal flower!

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