It only took forty years,
To expose the Charter for what it is,
Merely paper and hollow words,
Bereft of Truth.
Law and Order,
Aren’t always collegial,
With Rights and Freedoms,
But they can be conflated.
In the maintenance of order,
The elderly were trampled,
Veterans were dragged, beaten.
With shades of Ordnungspolizei.
The law has limits,
In Vancouver, one man,
Concerned for his daughters,
Could breech the peace.
Older wisdom succinctly put,
Perhaps could be found,
On a tattered old label of Keith’s Pale,
Veritas Vincit.
By W. N. Branson
