OF ALL THE PRIME AT CAMP FOR UTOPIA, THIS CAST ACCOUNTS,

THE SALT OF AN ISLAND SUN, ABOUT TO BE SUPERLITE THROUGH OUT BY SATELLITE.

HER CITIZENS, DELIGHT, AND FEST,

TO COUNT THEIR MOMENTARY RESPITE, AND PEACE TO SALUTE, EVEN, NONE ELECTED CONSERVATIVES, AMONG REPUBLICANS.

THEIR SOLDIERS MARCHING NOT FIGHTING.

WHILE OTHERS FIGHT THEIR INCONCLUSIVE WARS, AS PEACEMAKERS WARM,

GLOW EARNINGS WARM, ON THEIRS BEHALF.

TALK DARFUR, TALK UKRAINE;

WHAT IS IT THAT FLOWERS BLOOM ON THIS ISLAND IN TIME OFTEN,

TO HARVEST THAT TRADITION HOLDS WHICH FILTERS FOR PEACE OUT OF TRADITION OLD BLESSED,

WHAT KEEPS, THAT BRIGHTENS, THAT TIGHTENES,

BUT ONLY FASTENES ON THIS ISLE, WHEN IT PARADES ALONG

THIS PLACE CALLED, BUCKINGHAM PALACE ?