5 June 2012
Flashing of scarlet, As the buses glide by. People milling in colourful clothes, And on the lustrous grass they lie.
Red, blue and white, The object of our rants. You would be sorely mistaken, If you thought I am talking about France.
I have nothing against the place, As I'm sure you'll see. But everything goes crazy, When it comes to our monarchy.
The slender, paling fingers, So frail but with strength inside. As our one and only Queen, Takes the moment she cannot hide.
She takes the glistening crystal, As it shimmers in the light. As she lights the National Beacon, The blast of fireworks bursting open the night.
The fragile and rigid woman, Closed her eyes and thought back. To the cruises she'd go on as a child, The sense of "normal" she would always lack.
She smiled slowly, and squinted, At the beaming people beside her. For she had watched them all grow, Into the people they always were.
But amongst the cheers and chants, Of the blissfully happy crowd. A single tear, silver and clear; Hits the podium, sharp and loud.
The people of Britain look up, Their flags hovering still in the air. And raise their heads in understanding, Radiating love, respect and care.
The tear had been the Ruler's, The stillness in her people a sheen. But the crowd just nodded in the memory, Of their one and only Queen.
The Diamond Jubilee • Opuss № I