"Remember, remember,
The 𝘍𝘪𝘧𝘵𝘩 of November:
Gunpowder, treason, plot.
For there is a reason
Why gunpowder & treason
Should ne'er be forgot."
Aye.
Drop all the bawny
And read it right:
One will notice
The exclusion in remembrance
Of plot proper.
What drivel, what rot.
A nursery rhyme,
Meant to lull asleep a populace.
You hear the story
That they were religious nuts,
That was projection.
Not a soul on our side
Was for balmy superstition.
We who was folks of science & virtue,
Philosophy proper was our standard -
What that had been & is corrupt.
Remember the Fifth
And remember his brother;
Two blonde youths,
Two tawny royal lads,
And one whom they slaughtered.
We fought for the expansion of freedoms,
Civil liberties & such.
For the likes of social programs now widely enjoyed -
Schooling, healthcare, and the like.
For not a soul among us to know hunger,
That they might have daily - bread
And the like.
A son named
After a king usurped -
Woodville, or Wideville;
For it is a large world,
But really quite navigable.
And a King who took a new name
In honor of his slain uncle,
D̲i̲c̲c̲o̲n̲ C̲l̲a̲r̲k̲e̲
Once more, where moored,
The only survivor.
Might is nary ever really right.
They too saw that
On the Isle Wight.
This line;
Long & tried,
Persecuted & replanted.
Forevermore,
As it had been before
And doubtless shall be again,
Wearing the verdant festoon.
In Old World, like New;
Truth is always the fashion,
Justice is always the passion.
"The Welsh dream," they said. "A Brit's nightmare!"
