Dear reader,

the post corona lockdown and ‘allowable freedoms’ have resulted in a out-pouring of joy not witnessed since the restoration of 1660. This poem comes to us from a junior subscriber, A,A Milne of MrPlod Street Cristopher Robin Crescent. He writes; ‘dear pcbycp I am 12 years of age and submit this poem for your circumspection‘.

We are delighted that young Christopher realises that he is but fragment of a new dawn that provides rich reward for those who obey the will to obey the principle of FEAR.  His piece is published in full…(no pun intended)

 

Lost Children

‘Mummy and daddy told me so

If I were lost, I must surely go,

 

To a kindly policeman on the street

Directing traffic with steady feet,

 

Tap him on his tunic sleeve

My pain and worry to relieve,

 

Arms like semaphores, sure and grand 

He’ll guide you with a steady hand,

 

The policeman does almost all he can

To serve the kindly ‘Uncle Dan’,

 

His guiding hand, his vision fixed

Eschews the grind of politics,

 

If you’re lost, and mummy’s worried sick

You’ve got ‘Uncle Dan’ and ‘Corona Vic’,

 

To question as Michael Leunig did

Cancel culture must surely bid,

 

Oh what fun it surely must be

To criminalise the citzenry,

 

To accept the doctrine and surmize

We citizens are now infantilised,

 

Fully indexed,’aboriginalisation’

An edict for Incarceration,

 

For souls depleted of mind or voice

The question is: “was there a choice”?

 

By pain of fine or safety charter

To dump the message of Magna Carta.