Um Poema (sem citação porque é um poema sério e as minhas citações nunca o são!)

Not the Tigris or the Euphrates,
but a river of more recent prowess;
with salt still fresh from such,
yet too old to fully conserve
the wisdom, the power and the glory
that sailed and sallied forth
slicing mist and cutting froth,
from the riposted estuary
to undiscovered adventures,
adversaries, and advantages.

That same dear river now runs low;
encrusted, crumbling banks do show
and from the echo, woe betoe!
the calls of anger, famine, shame,
that come to bellow th' river's name.

Equal procrasting stopped the roll
taking on quo's status th'toll;
foolhardy enterprise was pursed,
now finding usurped the purse
and once mean eyes to drive the hearse!

Arise, again, great river princess
unclench the lock and grind the edges
look up and see - yes, hold it,
roar down triumphant,
the Thames - gnome it!