Monday, 18 March 2013

Casa Banka Cyprus

The Greek stood at the burning bank
Whence all his money fled.
The flame that lit the cashier’s face
Confused his Cypriot head. 

He called aloud, “Say, banker, say
Is all my money gone?”
The banker’s face was filled with scorn,
The government had won. 

“Speak, banker!” once again he cried,
“Is all my money gone?”
And fast outside the shots replied,
And riot flames rolled on. 

They wrapt the bank in splendour wild,
They caught the flag on high,
The people’s flag is deepest red,
Like warning in the sky. 

Then came a burst of thunder-sound
The boy stayed on his feet.
As vaults of gold were broken down 
And banknotes strewed the street! 

The EU flag, and pennon fair,
That well had borne their part–
But the noblest thing which perished there
Was that young Cyprus heart. 

The boy stood at the burning desk
The cashier was a sluggard.
They’ll keep the red flag flying here
He knew that he was buggered.

1 comment:

  1. Like it, not normally a poetry person but I like this style :)