Golden Silence

A word out of season
   Of vapid unreason
May seem mere political twaddle at best;
   But this thing needs abatement
   If, with each wild statement
It mean's that a cool quarter million's gone West.

   What millions are pouring
   While, raving and roaring,
Not only John Lang, but a dozen or more
   Political brothers
   Outshouting the others
With rhetoric costly are taking the floor?

   In mood apathetic
   We hear energetic
But futile economists voicing their views;
   And little attention
We give the dissension
Until we awoke to this dread bit of news.

   Now, what are we paying
   For all this dull braying?
Beyond computation the vast millions heap,
   Till we're yearing to shackle
   This mad, costly cackle
With curses for him who said talking was cheap.