Lady Astor Versus Sir Winston Churchill
In chambers grand where words like weapons flew,
Sat Churchill, stout, and Astor, sharp and new
(The first lady MP, with spirit and with grace),
Who often met the statesman, face to face.
Their rivalry, a legend, oft-retold,
A battle of wits, worth more than gold.
Though much is but apocryphal, they say,
The tales endure to brighten up our day.
Part I: The Gentleman and the MP
Winston, with Brandy in his steady hand,
Surveyed the House, the finest in the land.
Then Astor rose, her voice a sudden sharp decree,
“To have a woman here’s like you in your privy!”
The Prime Minister, with a twinkle and a grin,
Replied, “My Lady, that is quite a sin!
But fear not, ma’am, no danger to my pride,
You’re not good-looking enough for me to hide!”
Part II: The Poisoned Cup
At Blenheim’s table, ‘midst the silver gleam,
The tension rose, a palpable, hot stream.
She eyed his cup with a disdainful lip,
And let a cutting, venomous remark slip:
“Winston,” she snapped, with fervor in her tone,
“If you were my husband, I’d put poison in your tea, you’re on your own!”
He paused, then swallowed, with a look so wry,
And gave a swift, unburdened, classic reply:
“Madam,” he said, without a moment’s pause,
“If you were my wife, I’d drink it to applause!”
Part III: The Sober Dawn
On another eve, or so the story goes,
She saw his state and let her anger show.
“Winston, you're drunk!” she cried, with eyes so cold,
A fact she felt courageous to unfold.
He looked, with a ponderous, heavy sigh,
“And you, my lady, are extremely ugly, I won't lie.”
"But fear not, in the morning, I'll be sober and all new,
And you, alas, will still be ugly, through and through!”
Part IV: The Masquerade
When talk arose of some grand, masked affair,
And Churchill mused on what strange guise to wear,
‘Twas Astor who suggested, quick and clear,
Dispelling any notion he held dear:
“Why don’t you come as yourself, Prime Minister, for once and all?”
"Or better yet,” she added, “why not just come sober to the ball?”
So went the “feud”, a lively, verbal spar,
Between two titans, like a distant star,
Whose witty words, though maybe not all true,
Paint pictures of an age that’s fresh and new.
A time when cutting insults, sharp and bright,
We were parried with a quip and pure delight.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment