Saturnalia Poem by Mary Champion

Once, Rome revered a golden time
of peace and plenty where none ever toiled,
when ev'ry daybreak dawned sublime
and ev'ry hour was there to be enjoyed.

When Saturn ruled and men were free,
when frolicking and fun filled all our days.
December was the month when he
was celebrated in unfettered ways.

The seventeenth day saw the start
of raucous revelling and jamboree,
as social structures fell apart
and overturned the order gleefully.

When master had to serve his slave,
a time for feasting and exchanging gifts,
a licensed time to misbehave
discard all stuffy custom that restricts.

In later years - time to elect
a leader for the season of misrule.
Boy bishops would be grandly decked
and wise men pay their homage to a fool.

But spoil-sport puritans deplored
the drunken orgies citizens enjoyed.
They longed to see the people bored,
their wayward hands more gainfully employed.

And so, the custom was suppressed,
wild spirits tamed by outward piety.
Naff cracker jokes replaced the mirth
that once led to unbridled revelry.

And yet the custom lingers still.
How many times do we choose to elect
a set of fools who have no skill?
And five years of misrule is what we get.