I thought of entering a competition about the Diamond Jubilee this morning but I was distracted when I knocked a cup of coffee over my writing desk and on to the carpet. The next half an hour was spent mopping up with a rancid flannel I retrieved from the bathroom. After that, the Muse had left me so only three verses got written. Here they are – in no particular order.
THE QUEEN FRETS
Does she fret when they wee on the carpet,
Or when they snaffle an ankle or two?
Does she toss them a biscuit
While boiling some brisket –
So deliciously tender to chew.
Does she sigh at the pile of red boxes
While she longs to be watching a soap?
Does she curse the word ‘duty’
And believes that there’s beauty
In reducing them all to a note?
Does she weep in her bed close to midnight
For the griefs she has suffered in life?
Does she cry for dear Maggie
And Mummy and Daddy
And Philip who’s caused her such strife….?