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


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