Brought up to respect the conventions, love had to end in marriage. I'm afraid it did.
Your noble reign
by Ivan Donn Carswell
The man whose term we would remember as our longest,
constant serving Head of State, besides the late Sir Robert
Gordon Menzies, turned 67 yesterday. Congratulations John,
you’ve run a long and torrid race, kept up a frenzied pace
as leader of the pack. When looking back you’ll smile no
doubt, take time out to gloat on how you’ve managed
to divert the smut and all the dirt that often clings
to power. You’re still the People’s Choice, the man with
golden voice and slightly botched recall – trifling small
impairment to disdain, hearing not the best and couldn’t
pass a listening test unless it was for news you wished to hear.
Happy Birthday John, you’ve travelled well and strong although
you really do belong in History now – a place you earned;
I have a nagging fear that should you persevere the journey
on will see your charm suborned. We’ll see the little man,
the Johnny Winston Howard lampooned to great effect
emerge upon the back of heresy. The lies and arch deceit
will gather to defeat a man we should at least be thankful for,
and the hidden, warring schisms of benign paternalism,
which only just explain your noble reign, should not in any
way abstain our needed future growth. So thank you John,
it’s time to leave, we’ve learned to think without your hand.
We can and will decide the future of our land.
© I.D. Carswell