Does Anybody Else Think That We Aren't Seeing Much?
The paupers, intimiate with secrets of the court,
Will sell the information to the spy who bids the most
This is determined in an auction of a sort
The trick's to get the money without giving up the ghost
To trick the would-be buyer, but not end up as toast
Revealing almost nothing, while keeping them engrossed
Most of them regard it as something of a sport
The nobles, desperate to gain the upper hand
Withhold the information from the spy who bids the least
Thus is determined the rank of those who stand
Before the ruined embassy, when marching music's ceased
And in the hours of darkness, when the streets are not policed
A darker style of courier comes sliding down the piste
The letter that he carries seals the future of the land
Yet none shall read
Who does not know
The life ahead
Will serve, for now
| Contributors: | P, TG, Roland. |
| Poem finished: | 12th November 2003 by Anon.. |