The Final Walk: Farewell Mr Turbull
And so Malcolm, it’s time to go
As your polls numbers sink so low.
Surrounded by the overwhelming stench
Of Mr Abbot’s revolting back bench.
Your good ideas and noble themes
Are now only Instagram memes
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Your green policies have taken a beating,
By the voters’ need for cheap central heating
But you did your best with an unruly crowd
Often bloodied, but rarely bowed.
So farewell noble Sir, take your leave with grace
Back held straight and a smile on your face.
For somewhere down a Tuscan path,
You’ll have the final, unfortunate laugh.








