(with apologies to William McGonagall, 1825-1902)

It fell upon the first weekend in September

That Mr Blair the Prime Minister enjoyed hospitality he should long remember,

As a guest of Her Majesty the Queen in the Castle of Balmoral,

An honour far greater than any wreath of bays or laurel.

And with him he was graciously commanded to bring his dear wife,

Whose silences in the presence of the Queen, it was said, might be cut with a knife.

All the pundits declared it would be the last visit of his

Before dour Mr Brown should succeed him in his burdensome office.

Sunny periods beamed down on the famous Braemar Gathering,

A healthy outdoor contrast to the usual Westminster blathering.

The Queen took gracious notice of Tossing the Caber and Putting the Stone,

Rough, honest games of small interest to metropolitan Tone.

Mrs Blair looked far from pleased at being nuzzled by a doggy,

Which, to make matters worse, was a wet, muddy and pungent corgi.

And when at last they closed their own front door at No 10,

She said: “In your new job abroad at least we’ll never have to go again.”

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