On Seeing A Precious Jewel Poem by Mark. A Heathcote

Deep from within her grave
At Brompton Cemetery,
As the rain turned to sleet
And then a light dusting of snow,
Emmeline Pankhurst was heard.
In her immortal, now ghostly throws
Lecturing about women's rights.

As I remember her dreaming, seeing
The burning, charred feet of a crow
Claws wrapped around a molten sun
On seeing a precious jewel
She wishes beyond all things to possess
And caws out no more time for building nests
When the blackthorn comes into flower

And, I hear her holler, not sing, I wonder
Did she ever truly manage
To prise out her lustrous treasure
Would it not have been much easier?
For her to feather her vampish nest
Then to caw and claw at the distant sun
And devour a potted moon, a melting snowflake.

Orbiting the Earth, I would hope-
In time, there would be equal governance.
Equal rule. A blind awakening
A song sung by one and all.
An equality party, I am sure.
It would win my vote and never need
Another opposition day, come what may.