Long long ago, a tale of the past,

In the Kingdom of England, home to diversities vast.

The Minister of finance and the Bard were apart

Tensed sweats teared, a quarrel stirring to start.

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The minister was placid, the minister was just,

Fussed of the views of the Bard unjust.

For him 'twas but a black rose, he never tread for feelings.

A twilight call of a cuckoo were but trillings.

But the Bard being an artist the Bard begged to differ.

The ignorance of the minister made her gravely stiffle.

Still she forced on a hold, deeming it worthless talk,

To unfaze the practical gaze she offered a country walk...