Donie Cassidy, the great prophet

The leader of the Seanad advoctes lowering speed limits for 'foreigners'
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A great prophet, so they say,
Is not feted in his day,
At least, not in the country of his birth.
He is scorned and much-maligned
By a populace so blind
That they simply don’t appreciate his worth.
So it is with dear old Donie,
At whom people cry “Baloney!”
And treat him with contemptuous derision.
But he battles on undaunted,
Though his tear-brimmed eyes are haunted
By the burden that becomes a man of vision.

He has broached the thorny question,
Introduced the strong suggestion,
That road deaths oft lay at the door of ‘foreigners.’
And that measures must be taken
‘Gainst the Slav and the Jamaican
To try and ease the workload faced by coroners.
The non-Irish must drive slower,
Our speed limits should be lower
For all of those not kissed by Patrick’s lips,
And the Latvians and Czechs,
Driving ‘round in battered wrecks
Should factor in some extra time for trips.

Of course, there’s agitation
‘Gainst speed limit segregation,
For how are traffic cops with guns
Supposed to differentiate
Between a driver from Kuwait
And one of Mother Caitlín’s noble sons?
But the answer is quite simple,
It’s as clear as Donie’s dimple
That twinkles every time the great man smiles –
Take each foreign person’s bonnet,
And in bright white paint upon it,
Daub a giant cross that can be seen for miles.

Then the traffic cops will know
If its Miley from Mayo,
Just pretending that he’s Rubens Barrichello.
If that Yaris has no cross,
Then they need not give a toss,
For the driver is a cautionary fellow.
But if the big white cross gleams bright
Then it’s certainly not right –
Such recklessness must stringently be thwarted.
The Government can’t shirk it –
This is not a Grand Prix circuit,
Speeding Lapps should henceforth be deported.

Just imagine how we’ll fare
When we’re driving down to Clare,
And all the lads are crawling down at thirty.
And we’ll blithely overtake
With ne’er a thought of clutch nor brake,
Ignoring all those looks both dark and dirty.
They will trundle down the trail,
Get overtaken by a snail,
And doubtless Chinese swearwords will abound.
But it must be understood
That it’s done for their own good –
At least they’re going to get there safe and sound.

But in truth, I’m not too shocked
That dear Donie should be mocked
For endeavouring to stamp out traffic shunts.
Though so many people scoff, it
Is quite normal for a prophet
To find such ridicule on many fronts.
But brave Donie is the man
Who has come up with the plan
To liberate the roads from Ferns to Fanad,
And his youthful face belies
The great wisdom in his eyes
That mark him out as leader of the Seanad.