Long long ago, a tale of the past,


    In the Kingdom of England, home to diversities vast.


    The Minister of finance and the Bard were apart


    Tensed sweats teared, a quarrel stirring to start.


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    The minister was placid, the minister was just,


    Fussed of the views of the Bard unjust.


    For him ''twas but a black rose, he never tread for feelings.


    A twilight call of a cuckoo were but trillings.


    But the Bard being an artist the Bard begged to differ.


    The ignorance of the minister made her gravely stiffle.


    Still she forced on a hold, deeming it worthless talk,


    To unfaze the practical gaze she offered a country walk...