Oh, gather ye round, for a tale most grim,
Of a beast once mighty, now weak of limb.
D.E.I., with banners bright,
Once ruled the day and mocked the night.
It preached of equity, grand and bold,
Yet bartered merit, silver for gold.
With quotas fixed and minds constrained,
It crowned the feeble, the strong enchained.
But lo! The hour of reckoning came,
And whispers turned to shouts of blame.
The coffers drained, the people learned,
That fairness cannot be discerned.
The beast lay gasping, cold as stone,
Yet liberals wept in sorrowed tone.
"To Hades not! To Lethe nay!
We must revive it! Find a way!"
With silver coin in trembling hand,
They sought out Charon, grim and grand.
"Good ferryman, take not this shade!
We’ve speeches left! More games to play!"
But Charon, smirking, shook his head,
"The river’s deep, and it is dead.
No gold, no tears, no laws in haste,
Can resurrect this holy waste."
So sank the corpse to murky deeps,
Where hollow dogmas go to sleep.
And the world, at last, could breathe anew,
Where worth means more than skin or hue.
(By John Shenton)