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Oh, no! We Never Mention Her Parody

Oh no! we never mention her, whose name’s a major crime,
my lips are sealed and privy shields, short memory has Time!
From vote to vote they whip me on, to skip regret, and yet,
although the Poll Tax ain’t to be, I never can forget:

They bid me seek in Brussels’ clique the charms that others see,
but tunnels dug neath channel tug tug deep alarms to me,
‘tis true the view of outfit blue is gone from where we met,
I cannot see free enterprise, - I tries, but can’t forget!

For, oh there are hints near and far recall the past to me,
statistics on the dole, (which mole?) are wholly out at sea;
the rosy tint that still may deck the House – election’s set –
aye every vote I dote upon forbids me to forget!

They tell me she is happy now, and from Divisions free,
they hint that she forgets my need, I heed not, disagree,
perhaps like me she struggles with each feeling of regret, -
but if new Acts lack faith, each fills with facts one can’t forget!

Press fills the page with Major, thrills to say that he’s a match –
unless the wager Labour kills, to start again from scratch, -
but every thatch in every home appears a safer bet,
and there’s a catch, when new plots hatch, one never can forget!

© Jonathan Robin – Poem written 1 August 1991
Parody Thomas Haynes BAYLY – O No! We Never mention Him

Oh, No! We Never Mention Him

Oh no! we never mention him, his name is never heard;
My lips are now forbid to speak that once familiar word:
From sport to sport they hurry me, to banish my regret;
And when they win a smile from me they think that I forget.

They bid me seek a change of scene the charms that others see;
But were I in a foreign land, they'd find no change in me.
'Tis true that I behold no more the valley where we met,
I do not see the hawthorn-tree but how can I forget?

For oh! There are so many things recall the past to me, -
The breeze upon the sunny hills, the billows of the sea;
The rosy tint that decks the sky before the sun is set; -
Ay, every leaf I look upon forbids me to forget,

They tell me he is happy now, the gayest of the gay;
They hint that he forgets me too, - but I heed not what they say:
Perhaps like me he struggles with each feeling of regret;
But if he loves as I have loved, he never can forget.

poem by Jonathan Robin
Added by Poetry Lover
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