The Passing of the Knight

In days of old,
When knights were bold,
(And motors weren’t invented),
Your gallant’s need
Was but a steed,
And he galloped the road contented.

But now, alas,
If he would pass
Upon the King’s Highway,
Beset by fools
And their myriad rules,
For his passage in gold he’ll pay.

In those bygone days,
No great arrays
Of ministerial splendour
Blocked the road;
Our traveller strode,
No dues had he to render.

Now, great wars fought,
And his “freedom” bought,
He’s shackled hand and foot.
A million slaves,
In their Government caves,
Are gathering in the loot.

Now sore the plight
Of our once gay knight,
Though his coach may be swift and sure;
He may travel far
In his modern car,
But not as in days of yore.

If your way you’d wend
On the road, my friend,
Now gird your armour on;
Still ride you may,
If the price you pay,
But in freedom?
No, that’s gone !

E. E. P.