Meghan Markle’s Dress by Antony Owen

I am not a silent poet

To clad a sister of Grenfell would not look as lovely as you.
An oak panelled council room disputes the two costs of blood and monetary,
a three-bar fire can keep the poor coin-warm and Grenfell had twenty-three tiers,
and a million tears, to dispute the two tiers, and precious tears shed of fire and water.

How very left wing of me.

To clad a red-blooded woman in a dress that could fireguard a thousand mere subjects,
I did the math over my cornflakes and very Un-Brexitly sighed at my patriotism,
hard to deny how the warmth of your glare billows into the cold at the Prince
not dissimilar to all the little princes and princesses asleep in the choky robes.

 How very body of the bird of me.

To keep a homeless man warm a rich boy can set fire to ten pound notes and guffaw,
the queen…

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