Armageddon anyone?
Is anyone penning a few lines on far away places of which Donald knows damn all? - and whether Bolton will make a difference? - and whether we will ever get to know?
May appears to be wrapping herself in Blair's self-righteous shroud, from which he has just escaped to counsel the need for more deaths - and the witless 'Opposition' appear not a whit brighter.
Any thoughts on the verse form for the final days? - or has poetry nothing to say?
Here, daily struggling with translating 13th century warfare, my contemporary Muse has fallen chokingly silent. How are yours?
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