12th May 2014

Sonnet 143

GH* - that's one rogue gene I couldn't catch,

It died out some generations away,

So Mum could combine hatch, match and dispatch

With pursuit of that fame she would have stay;

Me,  resentful child who held her in chase,

Tried to stop her whose busy care was bent

Grabbing that fowl which others fear to face:

Political means to fight discontent.

Gone - but still running for that which flies thee,

Support of supporters you left behind,

Standing between what's grief for you from me -

And worse when former foes start being kind!

    Curse or bless Boadicea's genes as you will :

     Her choices make my consequences still.

*Good Housekeeping