Michael Gove: Professional Cliff Diver

I was standing next to Michael Gove

when off the cliff-top Gove he dove.

It was a superb sight to see

him swan-dive down towards the sea.

Since giving in as an MP

his life was full, much less empty.

Cliff-top dives gave his life meaning,

he’d turned his back on Whitehall scheming.

He’d lost some weight and grown his hair.

His Tory chums thought he’d not dare,

they said this sport is not your style,

that he would fail.

But Gove would smile

and tell them that he’d given up

on messing all the country up.

He’d now found his one true calling,

and so we watched Gove gracefully falling

towards the dazzling, blue-green sea.

He’d found his zone, his soul was free,

but then Gove saw beneath the water

a shark in wait and thought he outta

stop his dive or he’d be dead

and panic popped into his head.

“I cannot die, I’ll not be eaten.

I’m a Tory Man: I’m never beaten.”

What could he do? He was mid-dive.

Could Gove survive this dive alive?

His time was up, the shark was near

Gove’s brain was overcome with fear.

His life whizzed by before his eyes,

the wrongs he’d done, the woes, the lies.

Perhaps, Gove thought, this is to be.

A shark should have me for his tea.

But by this time the shark had spied him

and did not want this berk inside him.

The shark knew well that he would choke

if he consumed this dreadful bloke.

And so Gove hit the sea with speed

but was not munched that day, indeed

his brush with death gave Gove some clarity.

He’d now devote his life to charity.

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