The Red Queen out of fashion fell,
Her legacy unsure,
Though courtiers praised her, life was hard
For many to endure.
Therefore the people trimmed their sails
And beckoned winds of change,
Their songs of anger and travail
Blown colder by the same.
A Vain Lord sought to play the part
Of hero to the folk.
“The least of you I take to heart,”
He said, their trust to coax.
“The meddling Queen made such a waste,
Her predecessor too;
Their work we must undo with haste,”
Urged he, all clad in blue.
“For life, in sum, is loneliness,
But happy are the few
With strength to chart their proper course
And thus be free and true.”
Though pillaged had the people been
For so long they’d forgot,
By strong and lonely businessmen
Whose wealth had gone to rot,
Still did their ancient myths promote
Rewarding wealth with wealth.
Who multiplies it merits more,
To grow the nation’s health.
“Therefore we shan’t our coffers bloat
By stretching out our claws.
A rising tide will lift all boats!”
The Lord said to applause.
But then an Orange Lady rose
To prominence anew.
The Lord’s false tales did she oppose
By preaching kindness true.
“The Queen’s grown deaf, the Lord tells lies,
But here I am,” said she.
“The way is rough, yet I would rise
To meet it; join with me!
“Each other shall we hold aloft
Through times that try our faith.
With diligence and justice
May we make the future safe.”
And though her fair words wakened
Many faithful from their angst,
Their nuance failed to move those hearts
Grown proud of lonely strength.
Those hearts yearned for simplicity,
To understand their plight
As sailors beached who would cruise free
If things were put aright.
“The Red Queen’s grand scheme left us dry;
And Orange smells the same,
We want no schemes, no matter what
Their colour or their name.
“Propose no more landlubbers’ rules
For living life ashore.
What we need now’s a plumber
To make water flow once more!”
And so the Lord and Lady cast
Their dice onto the sand,
Each seeing in the other’s eye
The flaw in their own plan.
The Lord knew statesmanship was not
So simple as he claimed.
His servants, even now, had grown
too numerous to name.
Moreover, his advisors had,
Of late, drawn tight their tone;
In more than name, he doubted they
Meant him to sit the throne.
As for the Orange Lady’s tale,
It was the harder sell.
For happier sounds diligence
When life’s already well.
She saw the Lord was off’ring up
Something that she was not:
One reason why things had gone wrong,
One way to fix the lot.
O why must human nature take
Simplicity for truth?
When folk crave explanation,
Oft they hear best that which soothes.
Scant understanding e’er was formed
By one idea alone—
Yet fortresses are sometimes stormed
By one whose time is come.
Deep in her heart of hearts the Lady
Harboured such a one.
She longed to name the pillage, leave
Deceitful tale unspun:
For to prevent the rot of wealth,
The harvest must be wise,
What goes not into mouth
Or into furrowed acres dies.
When sown all in one spot, two thousand
Seeds bear twenty fruit.
Wise farmers spread them evenly
To give them space to root.
Yet hesitated now the Lady
To put on her armour,
Declare a war between ideas:
The plumber or the farmer?
For not so long ago the folk
Had feared, and rightly so,
The news they heard from other lands
Whose leaders did not know
That not all land is farmland
Nor the right of state to till.
They treated folk as cattle,
Or as wheat destined for mill.
And still today the spectre of
those times would rise up cold
Behind the one who dared suggest
The state take more control.
But yet, merely to sit and watch
The crops all go to seed,
This patch off yonder flooding, while
that one succumbs to weeds—
She knew these were the stakes should that
Vain Lord e’er take the throne.
With grand ideas comes grander risk
That she could not condone.
If war was on, let it be one
She had a chance to win.
Small help were grand ideas that barred
Her help from getting in.
She’d moderate her speech to keep
Ghosts of the past at bay.
Meanwhile, the Red Queen, Queen
of moderation, had her say:
“I feel the cold wind blowing,
Smell the salt upon the breeze.
I’ve kept much water flowing,
But you’ve turned your backs on me.
“Now endeth moderation; you
Are caught betwixt extremes.
Hold fast to what you can as you
Embrace a new regime.”
The Orange Lady cried,
“But moderation is my soul!”
The Vain Lord laughed, “What matters that?
We need loftier goals!”
Without reply, the Red Queen rose,
Relinquishing her throne.
Now empty, it looked larger,
Like the future, so unknown.