When peace
still wore its newest gloss
and a
nation's sorrows had rinsed it clean,
as rationing
ended and fortune smiled
a girl child
was named for a Queen.
Quite why
her parents named her so
she would
later find it hard to tell
unless they
thought 'Elizabeth'
could be
uttered like a spell
when its
syllables might conjure forth
that brave
new world they'd dreamed,
a fairer
world, and kinder, too
in the rule
of a fairy-tale Queen.
Now the
bedtime tale is ended
and the
embers in the hearth burns low;
greed and
grief and lies grow thick
where an old
crone flutes her woe;
and, safe
behind that castle wall,
a milky
princeling stirs and moans
while all
the courtiers sweep a bow
to pay
homage in this Game of Thrones.
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