Treasure Island

Jonathan ROBIN

(22 September / London)

Guerilla


At hoar sunrise, before stars fade
from slumber rise to dress parade.

We steal supplies in angry raid,
with steel surprise in ambuscade:
the tyrant’s spies retire dismayed.

They dropp like flies, their force is frayed;
his martial might, too far has strayed,
is faint, afright, withdraws afraid.
They’ll not stake fight, no longer staid,
see cowards’ flight, - we’ll not be stayed.

Can cowards’ greed crush Liberty?
I shall succeed! Democracy!
Life President soon shall I be! ...

I see unrest strip power from me,
from Satan sent, vile tyranny! ...

Ah! Swiss accounts’ security!

Submitted: Friday, October 13, 2006
Edited: Saturday, October 16, 2010

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