IMITATION OF POPE*
YOU MOURN IF YOU WANT TOO, THE BLOGGER'S NOT FOR MOURNING |
ON THE VANITY OF MARGARET
THATCHER
Margaret Thatcher is
carried to rest,
through the streets of London town.
Her perfumed corpse a
stiff rebuke
To a land that let her
down.
All now are bade to pay
respects
To speak her name in
whispered tones
To watch her cortege pass
us by
Upon a road of broken
bones.
To doff our caps our
voices still
The chimes of Gothic Big
Ben Kill
Pretend that this
malignant soul
was as great as Winston
Churchill.
For my self I’ve had
enough
of sickly sanctimonious guff
So bury her body and bend
your knee
So at last all
can breathe free.
Maggie Thatcher Laid to rest
Her son got all the money
Some think this a sad and mordant tale
For my self I think it funny.
©ALEX TALBOT APRIL 2013