Every Now and Then

Lisbon, the city, I’m told is one of note.
Europe, the treaty, only us Irish vote.
There’s very few, that have a clue, essentially.
Perhaps by chance, perhaps, intentionally.

According to former President d’Estaing
Well fed mushrooms, is the well laid plan.
Just get the boggers, to pass their referendum,
We get job security, scripting the addendum.

Morning’s blazing sun reflecting red
On the neck of a pheasant.
Summer has won, Spring is now dead
Mourning the passing is pleasant.