The delightful princess was still alive when I wrote this, shaking her mane like a thoroughbred filly. |
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DianaThe princess regrets, she’s told the queenCan’t make it at Christmas Something to do with last minute invitations to Aspen, where the lifestyle’s not so stilton-stilted She much prefers her brie a little runny, on a warmer plate But supports the monarchy, oh my, yes and Charles paints another landscape, stiffly upper-lipping Castles too cold and dark for her, all that Chippendale cracked with age, conversation dry as toast and the shooting of all those driven-birds The princess will be elsewhere, a driven-bird herself Her smile and charm is entry fee among new royals and who can blame her, but she supports the monarchy, oh my, yes, admiring from afar Expecting to be a different queen, in a different century Too lively for a still life among those painted landscapes And I bet she pulls it off, or dies trying |
 This poem is included in Jim Freeman's poetry collection THE SMELL OF TWEED AND TOBACCO available here in print or as an e-Book in your favorite formats. |
