I'm barely fit to be her horseholder...

The Mid-day Ride of SWWBO
(with apologies to Henry Wadsworth Longfellow)

Listen my children and you shall know
Of the mid-day ride of our SWWBO,
On the ninth of October, in the year of ought-five;
Hardly a man is now alive
Who remembers that famous day and year.

She said to her friend, "If the pork-Nazis march
By land or sea from Blighty to-night,
Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry arch
Of the North Church tower as a signal light,--
One if by land, and two if by sea;
And I on the opposite shore will be,
Ready to ride and spread the alarm
Through every Middlesex village and farm,
For the country folk to be up and to arm."

Then she said "Good-night!" and with muffled oar
Silently rowed to the Charlestown shore,
Just as the moon rose over the bay,
Where swinging wide of any moorings lay
The Dudley Council, British dhimmis-in-fear;
A spineless crew, tossed hither and yon
Seeking not offend, no not any one!
Yet one suspects a call for for to hide
any crescent moons would fall by the side.

Meanwhile, impatient to mount and ride,
Booted and spurred, with a heavy stride
On the opposite shore walked SWWBO.
Now she patted her horse's side,
Now she paced to and fro,
Then, impetuous, stamped the earth,
And turned and tightened her saddle girth;
But mostly she watched with eager search
The belfry tower of the Old North Church,
As it rose above the graves on the hill,
Lonely and spectral and sombre and still.
And lo! as she looks, on the belfry's height
A glimmer, and then a gleam of light!
She springs to the saddle, the bridle she turns,
But lingers and gazes, till full on his sight
A second lamp in the belfry burns.

A hurry of hoofs in a village street,
A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark,
And beneath, from the pebbles, in passing, a spark
Struck out by a steed flying fearless and fleet;
That was all! And yet, through the gloom and the light,
The fate of a concept was riding that night;
And the spark struck out by that steed, in his flight,
Kindled the land into flame with its heat.
She has left the village and mounted the steep,
And beneath her, tranquil and broad and deep,
Is the Mystic, meeting the ocean tides;
And under the alders that skirt its edge,
Now soft on the sand, now loud on the ledge,
Is heard the tramp of her steed as she rides.

You know the rest. In the books you have read
How the British Dhimmis fired and fled,---
How the bloggers gave them ball for ball,
From behind each keyboard and monitor tall,
Chasing the dhimmis down the lane,
Then crossing the fields to emerge again
Under the trees at the turn of the road,
And only pausing to post and load.
And gnosh some bacon, then rejoin the riot
For we'll not have dhimmis dictate our diet!

So through the night rode our SWWBO;
And so through the night went her cry of alarm
To every Middlesex village and farm,---
A cry of defiance, and not of fear,
A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door,
And a word that shall echo for evermore!
For, borne on the night-wind of the Past,
Through all our history, to the last,
In the hour of darkness and peril and need,
The people will waken and and they will know
The hurrying hoof-beats of that steed,
And how Piglet was saved by our SWWBO.

Huh? What? Why? Because Pork Fat Rulez, not Sharia, at Castle Argghhh!!

Hat tip, Ala, from Blonde Sagacity, for the Free Piglet campaign graphic!-

And thanks to CDR Salamander, for wherever he got this one!

(that flag is that of England, which there is a movement afoot to ban that, as well, because, gee, in the past, Bad Things were done by people flying that flag. It doesn't help that in the Present, The Usual Suspects are co-opting that flag for their own purposes, along the lines of the KKK co-opting the Confederate Flag, or the milder equivalent in Canada co-opting the Red Ensign (Canada's flag before the Maple Leaf). I say you take the symbols back, and not let the a$$holes swipe 'em.