With the country fracturing around them,
the populace stood in long lines
waiting to blacken the space between the arrows,
wishing to change the old signs.
With ultimate patience, good spirits and free will
they compounded their single voices,
sang until county after county turned hopeful blue,
a reflection of the electorate's choices.
A fortnight later, posters and banners packed away,
the status looms darker for the chosen one
as those with the reins seem disinterested, in disarray,
awaiting the January arrival of the shining sun.
A miracle worker he must become
a master of the impossible,
to right the wrongs that have accumulated,
to make the good life plausible.
New hope will soon shine, as intelligence takes over,
as greed and intolerance vanish,
as thoughtful minds put the pieces back together,
and good sense attends to each wish.
Yes, miracles do happen. They are not unseen
and probably appearing in jobs that are green.
Bronze trophy winner
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