The casket’s draped in purple,
Which is what the crowd expects
As they inch up in the queue at last
To pay their last respects.
They’ve waited there for hours
For a minute with the Queen,
To bow or curtsy or salute,
A touching, tender scene.
Each somber guard stands by
With no expression on his face
And silence fills Westminster Hall
For mourners to embrace.
Across the pond, we watch in awe
For who knows if or when
We’ll ever see the likes
Of such a tribute come again.
No comments:
Post a Comment