Tiny, Fragile Rainbow
By Ian Robertson
There’s a tiny, fragile rainbow, glowing on an oak desktop
It’s been shining there for hours, waiting for the Sun to stop
Neatly painted by an empty glass after the last “chin-chin”
It’s sweet scent, smells suspiciously of Dubonnet and Gin
Nobody wants to move it; nobody wants to dare
For there’s finger marks on it and a long, course Corgi hair
Let’s hope they dust around it, let’s hope they don’t forget
For its owner is now travelling to continue her duet
An Unnatural Quietness
By Patty Beecham (c)
The corgis are quiet today.
Evening shadows slide towards a hushed silence,
No more will the handbag bob along the regal corridor that glides from birth to a never-timely passing.
The hats, unfriended: each rainbow colour has given its best among the coiffed curls.
Our Queen has left us..
The diamonds have lost their sparkle, the pearls, their lustre.
Beauty is wasted on the dead.
Regal assurance to Carry On, Don’t Panic,
have lost all meaning.
The rainbow, the cloud, and the moon,
mourned her whilst we stood in shock,
not believing.
Our Queen is dead!
How can this be?
We are so familiar with her face, on our
coin, our magazines, her smile seen from every angle.
We know her. We loved her.
We remember.
We will not forget.
Forever grateful, ma’am.