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(With apologies to AA Milne:) Bojo was not a good man He had his little ways And sometimes he would lie and cheat For days and days and days And when he went to meetings And tried to shake the hands Of clever, tidy people From lots of other lands They turned their backs upon…

There is a beech wood, silent now The birds don’t sing, they don’t know how. The dead are gone, we can but follow To the rim of that quiet hollow Underneath the gate a flame Incinerates a nation’s shame Above the gate ‘To each his own’ Immortalised in skin and bone There is a road…