It seems that freedom (mocked and damned) is lynched,
As stalwart men, astounded, simply stare
Who would but that Hope's bastion yet would fare
But well enough as Good, sidelined, is benched.
The Frenchman's statue (if not groped) is pinched,
And few (with goods accruing) seem to care
Who, (blinded by sheer greed) seem not aware
Of what, from hearts that long, was rudely wrenched.
But yet some hope that good will yet prevail,
That we of this will find the antipode,
And shall not (neath duress or pressure) fail.
We need the primal meaning of that 'code'
Which those iconoclasts would yet assail
Who'd laden us with some ungodly load!