A Host of Embarrassing Interludes
(With my sincere apologies to William Wordsworth)

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He bumbles loudly like a bee
That floats on high o’er vales and hills,
Then all at once he’s all at sea,
A host of embarrassing interludes;
In the House, beneath the trees,
Flipping and flopping in the breeze.

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Anxious he was to quote some rhyme,
A Kipling poem on Mandalay,
He stretched his voice on one sweet line,
Ambassador forced to close the play:
Ten thousand saw it I’ll be bound,
Rolling their eyes without a sound.

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His next appointment gaffe he kept
For Party Conference after dusk.
Libyan bodies, we just wept.
Many asked: ‘Is Boris with us?’
We gazed – and gazed – but little thought
What ministerial misery this man has brought.

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His latest act of clown-like play,
Some vacant words and woeful brief,
Our citizen, the price may pay
Whilst the world looks on in disbelief.
Now once again he’s all at sea,
A host of embarrassing interludes.

More to follow…

©Keith Murphy