A lot grown too content and wayward blind
Saw not the peril or chose to ignore
The past – filled smartly by a fervent kind
Marching in long contempt to what had before
Been refuge for bold foresight and free mind
In loud deceit claimed order to restore
And stained reason as uncommon and weak
They, with self-certain right strode high to break
Who harboured dissent or dared to speak
And with old, fierce Camp gone, who now to take
The torch? –the best divided, the house bleak
Its grand tent felled for a flag-bowed south stake
The gimby display come a mean, brown land
Crushed dry in prime, in imperious hand.

Copyright Paul Heno 2010