On the day of her funeral,
Some Britons moun,
Some of us shrug,
Discussing compliments & critiques.
Yet above our musings,
Rises a black chorus,
Of mockery and jubilation,
A foreign choir we've come to know,
Saharan hyenas & Oriental vultures.
Their malice not towards her coffin,
But unleashed upon the people,
No criticism of her reign,
Only of our existence.
As the sun sets on her Empire,
A new day breaks for us,
The death of our monarch,
Our nation's rebirth.
Hope & Glory!
- Tucker, National Director