(With a wee nod to Hamish Henderson)
What box will I choose on the 8th of June?
Where will I let my pencil fall?
It’s the all or nothing compromised choice,
Or choose not to choose at all.
It’s party time again,
And the movement is moving slow.
We didn’t choose this route,
But along it we still go.
Our ideas don’t belong in boxes.
Nor for that matter do we.
My mind travels to the spaces beyond,
To see what there is to see.
So when the party’s over,
And we’re chucking the empties out,
Let’s reassemble, side by side,
And raise a mighty shout.
Our time has still to come,
And that time it may be soon,
When we altogether
“Dings the fell gallows o the burghers doun”