The Force

British Jedi.

The Force 


I wonder if British

Is some kind of sculpture

Hard edged and certain

Unwavering, alone

Terrible cruelty has been wreaked

From these stores, times and tides

Perhaps have washed some away

Yet grey is a colour I see around me

Sometimes though, as if reaching up

Like the hand that held Excalibur

The sceptred isle gifts you a trait

Like hand in glove and hope in heart

No, I don’t love rain

Sometimes though, British is best

I don’t think I’ll ever reclaim

Patriotism for the kind of heart

But tea, now, tea, oh, tea

That runs through my veins

That, that will I carry with me

Amongst the St. George crosses


And, well, y’know 

Several overhyped lions


For there is nothing so wholesome 

Nothing so true

As the lifeblood of England

A cuppa, a brew


Nothing combats clouds better

Nothing so true

As our own Jedi sustenance

A cuppa, a brew


Sloth out


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