Little Pint-sized Hazel Blears

Surely I'm not the only one,
Who, each day, grows so much sadder,
That little pint-sized Hazel Blears
Is moving further up her ladder.

Leaving the comfort of her shoebox,
In the yard, at number 10,
She's now been placed in Cabinet,
With the likes of Hilary Benn.

For England, this is just not right!
It, simply, is not fair!
That we're forced to endure her insipid skin
And her VERY scary hair.

Indeed, spare a though for her colleagues,
When she stands to take the floor
And beats them to submission
With her industrial, motorised jaw.

For her, there are many issues,
Labour, itself, can do no wrong,
She never takes a breath for air
And her answers are far too long.

I, for one, have been driven mad,
At times, to the brink of tears,
By that annoying, gobby, know-it-all,
Little, pint-sized Hazel Blears.