2016
A fire spits at the star-studded night,
Three sisters trade visions by northern light.
One weaves a shawl of red, white and blue,
Her eyes on its border, her prophecy true:
"From ten years on," she chants, "we’ve taken back control,
The blue passport sits like a crown on our soul.
We got it done, broke the chains, stood our ground.
The NHS millions finally found.
No more 'bad deals,' no more grey lines,
Minimised migrants - this land is now mine."
The second leans back, her shawl blue and gold,
Stars in her hair, another truth to unfold:
"Twenty-seven nations made a circle of peace,
A freedom you traded for the reform of a beast.
The red emperor laughs, his military might…
with shadowy tariffs that haunt day and night."
"How we forget," she sighs to the rain,
"That we were once travellers, escaping our pain.
I can’t control storms with stagnant songs,
‘United Through Music’ sounds hollow and wrong."
2026
The third sister is silent, lifts her eyes to the night
Whoever did think they had the gift of third sight?
As the embers fly upwards and the two visions blur
between what we all wanted and the things that occur.
Half foresaw a kingdom, sovereign and tall,
The other half, the cracks in a rising wall.
Suzanne Fairless-Aitken – April 2026
