Yes, gather ye close and heed well my song, of passports and peril, of rules writ in stone,
Where nations send warnings both solemn and strong, "Tread lightly, dear traveler, or reap what is sown!"
The Brits clutch their pearls, all a-tremble with fright, "One misstep," they wail, "and you're shackled and tossed!"
Yet turn to their streets in the dim London night, and tell me which fate is the greater of costs.
The Germans, precise as a clock in its chime, now caution their kin lest they stray from the path,
For overstays measured in days are a crime, but cities they left are now drowned in the wrath
Of policies welcomed with open embrace, where law bends like reeds in a storm’s howling gust,
And safety’s a relic, a ghost with no face, as lawmen look on while their streets turn to dust.
And Denmark and Finland, so tender of heart, now fret for the woes of the traveler’s plight,
For those with a passport that marks them apart may find that their paperwork’s lacking in might.
But better, say some, to be stalled at the gate than wander the lands where the law means but naught,
Where chaos now governs and warns all too late that mercy’s a virtue that criminals bought.
Yet northward, fair Canada hums with delight, declaring, “All’s well! Take no heed! Travel free!”
They send their good folk to the land of the fight, where rules still have teeth and the law holds the key.
For here in the States, there’s a Sheriff once more, and justice once slumbering rises anew,
Where those who would trifle or test at the door shall find that old folly still grants what is due.
So wail all ye wish and clutch at your pearls, lament at the laws that demand some respect,
But spare us the weeping for criminals hurled from lands where the law is no longer neglect.
For Europe now reels from the games it has played, its gates left agape and its ramparts unmanned,
Yet scorns those who’ve chosen to sharpen the blade and say what they mean with a firm, guiding hand.
The message is simple, it rings true and loud: respect where you travel, obey or return,
For law is no tyrant, no whip-bearing shroud, but justice long slighted will one day still burn.
And those who decry the return of the chain are those who once broke it for folly and pride,
Yet moan when the wolves whom they welcomed remain and feast in the halls where their betters abide.
So laugh at the warnings, let fancies take flight, but know that the truth is a merciless friend,
A nation that falters, that shrinks from the fight, will find that its folly brings ruin in the end.
And lo, as the Sheriff now tightens the rein, the world shrieks in horror and calls it unfair,
But better a lawman, firm-handed and sane, than streets filled with thieves and a land of despair.
(By John Shenton)