Pearls

What we are.
This Island,
this nation.

This Great Britain?

An everyday accepted menu,
of mutton dressed as lamb.

A grainy gravy.
That tastes of,
stiff upper lip,
conflict,
and
compromise.

The same as it ever was.

Short changed,
side plated with fat,
waiting for apple pie,
and custard

Now!

Things could be diffrent.

Give us this.

Oysters,
and the deep blue sea.

Where we might just discover pearls.

And each other.

Perhaps..