Meanderings of a Reactionary

What can I say?
The household has lost it’s way.
The old squire sits, paralysed,
His eyes fixed on the vanishing prize
Of what could be
Where he
To begin to believe
And cease to grieve.
For what has been
May once more be seen.

Order has broken down
In the servant’s hall.
Everyone wants the butler’s crown
And King Anarchy holds thrall
Over all.

Once the household as clockwork ran.
Each man
Knew his place.
One might trace
In a face
A sense that things where unfair,
But the squire would swear
That everyone had a job
Be he labourer or nob
(but no, he will not dare
So to say
For far away,
He hears the mob bay).

(Note: in this context, the word “nob” implies a person of wealth and/or high social position).


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