Political advertising seemed to flower overnight, prompting one anonymous reader to email us these Spring election thoughts first thing this morning.
Further literary contributions from across the political spectrum are welcome.
The Lib-Dem Signs
I WANDER'D lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er pavement grime,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host of golden Lib-Dem signs,
Beside the road, beneath the lamps,
Motionless and lurid in the damp.
Continuous as the folk who whine
in Crombie's about Dordogne gites,
They stretch'd in never-ending line
Along the edge of New Town streets:
Ten thousand saw I from my flat,
Glossy instead of slightly matt.
The Tory bunting danced, but they
Outdid it – like a scene from Glee: –
A voter could not but be gay
In such elect'ral company!
I gazed, and gazed, and little thought
Of the effect on me they wrought.
For now, when on my couch I lie
In swith'ring, apathetic mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which looks askance at Holyrood;
And then my heart with pleasure sings
At garish Lib-Dem flyposting.