There's no time for this, mouse;
with every tock and tick not one,
not twelve, but thousands die.
Saving oil, pendulum chains run
with blood, lie-slick, but by and by
those chains will clot, and seize shut.
Doesn't it see, your cowardly eye,
the geartrains made of tearing gut,
shuddering to an awful close and end?
Gristle and bone gears splinter, but
you will not run down, false friend;
so millions die, in this rich house?
You will be struck, struck down!
B.T. Murtagh
Dedicated to all politicians allowing their constituents to die for political gain, but most especially to the Blue Dogs who do so.
This is a bit of an experiment, obviously. I've written a couple of diaries on Kos, but I do like to express myself in poetry sometimes. If this kind of expression is considered inappropriate here by a strong majority I'll stop at this one, though. (If it's considered appropriate but simply bad I'll just try to do better!)
Oh, just to be clear, Doctor Frog is the pseudonym of B.T. Murtagh (not the other way around), and all my postings are Creative Commons licensed (BY-NC-SA); if for any reason (even to mock!) you want to quote me, feel free. It's good to feel free.