As the sky with passion thunders,
Our great leader gropes and blunders.
Is it stubbornness, one wonders,
Allied to a wilful pride?
The Israelites, as one supposes,
Led with great panache by Moses,
Cleared the sea and smelled the roses
Growing on the other side.
Unprepared, our troops have followed
Through this channel, newly hollowed,
Destined to be caught and swallowed
‘Ere we firmly gain our stride.
Fran has told us not to worry,
Not to do things in a flurry.
Don’t despair, there is no hurry,
Exemptions surely will abide.
Yet, the sea looks quite uneasy,
And the sea’s turned stiff and breezy,
The troops are feeling scared and queasy,
Now their fretting hands are tied.
Thunder’s pealing, lightning’s flashing,
Several voices call for dashing,
‘Ere the mighty waves come crashing,
There is nowhere left to hide.
One small band of men is reckoned
To have gained the shore, and beckoned
To us all, lest any second,
Pers’nal safety is denied.
Time is short, the ground is quaking,
The wall of water, frothing, shaking,
Several white-topped waves are breaking.
Can it ever be defied?
Surely now’s the time to panic,
Shed all calm, and run with manic
Haste across the broad, satanic
Stretch of looming, rising tide?
But our leader, calm, collected,
Confident and well-respected,
Plods along quite unaffected,
Slowly ‘cross the great divide.