A short poem about having a foreigner on our throne...
Foreigner on our throne,
to what end do we kneel and bow to a crown that is not our own.
They come and wave, smile and gaze then disappear again,
Stopping here and stopping there, back to London Town.
Is there not one person in all of our land
to wave as royal hand?
Enough of this injustice, Enough of this bad joke,
We are better than that I say, time to ditch the yoke
and to look upon a coin with a face of local folk.
Copyright 2015
RHDN
