And now they’ll come; the sycophants
In silly hats and draped with flags
Sleeping out for several nights
To save their place on Windsor streets.
They take it all a bit too far
We’re half amused yet half appalled
To view the strange exotic hoards
That gather now round Windsor’s walls.
We’re local, we’ll go. We’ll line the streets
To catch the buzz, the grand parade,
The marching bands, the passing waves
But we won’t go wild like such as these.
It’s history, tradition it’s what we do
It’s part of what makes us who we are.
But keep it all in sane proportion.
You’re overboard, you go too far.
We know it’s eccentric, slightly wrong
But like it enough to carry on.
The royals are trapped as much as us
We’ll party on but please, no fuss.
Still no word from the Castle about my offer to be the new Poet Laureate. I didn’t mind too much about being left off the guest list but I think they should take me up on my offer of a poem. As I said to Her Majesty, in an earlier letter, the proper poets have all turned it down but I could turn something out at the drop of a hat and it wouldn’t be half as stuffy. I’m local too. They should give me a try.
Andrew Green's Poems 