(with apologies to Mme Roland)

I come, in all the purple panoply of peace,
Spouting will to all men who agree with me.
Live, or die hard, is my motto and so I will kill
In order that peace may not pass nor tears cease.

I speak of peace and of non proliferation of arms
And to gain my ends I will wield a gun on my foe;
Not the foe of all mankind, but just mine opponent,
Because she will not weep for cessation of harm.

Grubby, coarse tongued women of Greenham Common,
With husbandless arms, loveless hearts and greasy locks –
These are the ladies who care for the future.
These are the women I praise, admire and commend.

My path was crossed by a high Tory bitch –
For thus I apostrophised her in my mind –
Everything I abhorred she was that, incarnate
And with mocking laughter she did me bewitch.

How could I love, admire or care so much
For a stranger with such foreign ideas?
And so I struck out at her who was not Greenham
And said I would grant her a slow agonising death.

Grant?  Thou arrogant bastard who art thee
That will take life without thought of hereafter?
Oh have great care for Thy God is never mocked
And the heart you stop may well be your own.