• Vol. 03
  • Chapter 11
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A One-Horse Race

Now Owen, you little Welsh pony.
You are one tenacious but misguided boyo.
All frisk and a masterful canter
but you fell at the final hurdle – well most actually.
(To be brutally fair).

Any Corbynista would tell you that.
Jeremy has pedigree and class.
He gallops gracefully and observes shrewdly.
A consummate master class of graciousness
(To be stating the obvious).

Your pedigree was all pharma and
well, you couldn’t eat hay with that one.
Jeremy is all authenticity, peace and protest.
pointing out the inherent evil in society.
(To be perfectly honest).


A One-Horse Race

Your chutzpah could be admired or pitied.
An unknown stable with no real experience.
A Grand National challenger with too many
Bechers Brooks to navigate safely.
(To be frankly candid).

You took on the master and you failed.
But it is the taking part that makes the votes.
You made a negligible mark,
on a true fairly elected leader.
(To be strictly clear).

Now it is all over bar the PLP.
You wanted to save the party.
But Jeremy is a First World War Stallion,
who can keep his noble head in gun fire.
(To be or not to be – goodbye and goodnight Owen).