I wrote this stanza the night before the UK General Election on December 12th. In my part of the country, the moon was very clear that cold December night, and had been for several nights. If not full, then very nearly so.
The electorate had a profoundly disheartening choice and a victory for the Progressives, or at least a position sufficient to restrain the fanatic Far Right and practitioners of the Lie, would still have been accompanied by a strong sense of trepidation.
But still I found myself that night, under the moon, with a sneaking hope that somehow sanity would cobble something together, something reflective of the nation’s predicament and fine balance ; the election might even come up with something unexpected, inspirational, gladdening…
And there was the Toad, intent on serenading the Leaver half of the country. Here comes the sun, get it done, get it done. And all the time, his back was turned to the nation’s other half. Would that pay off ?