The man who would be Canute.
Blaring out over the sea.
There once was a man who was ultra cute, Who convinced his Boss
that he was really Canute, That he could quell insurgance just
with his voice, And use of phrases this mentor deemed choice,
And Lo how it worked, the sea did not reach, Little realising
others were moving the beach, And any dissenting tides that
appeared, Were carefully stained and receded quite smeared, Any
overt threat of a rogue wave to break, Was flattened out early,
and seen as a mistake, But then the mentor was not there any
more, Leaving the King quite alone on the shore, And faced with
a renewed tide of dissent, His words were drowned, and his
clothing was rent, For no one was working at shifting the sand,
No more illusions, no more sleight of hand, Just a shadowy
figure now seen in the light, By a new sense of vision, a new
sense of right, Now lying crumpled at the mark of high tide,
Where the sea of opinion has tossed him aside, Seen at the last
as an empty rattling shell, Devoid of substance, and bobbing in
swell, That dreamed a delusion of power so great, And now is but
humbled by truth and by fate.