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While paupers’ bones receive scant ceremony,

a king’s skeleton toured much of Leicestershire

(excluding its now defunct coal fields) –

received a 21 gun salute,

was borne on a gun carriage, escorted

by Guides and Scouts and chaps ahorse in armour,

lay in state flanked by bowed head veterans

and was entombed in bespoke pride of place

in the restored cathedral with long queues.


The remains of a sensitive, serious

fellow portrayed holding his signet ring,

his seal of office, between finger and thumb,

or a witty Machiavell with some

of the best lines the Bard of Avon penned?


A Princess Diana moment sans tears!

All about dosh and PR for city,

county, church and varsity, hallowed

by the pretence of the veneration

of history aka monarchy –

the old English disease.






© Copyright David Selzer
2 Responses
  • Alan Horne
    March 27, 2016

    Just to get the trivial comment in first, I notice that some people are ascribing the unexpected success of Leicester City football club to the return of the Sun of York to his rightful place. So the age of miracles continues.

  • David Selzer
    March 28, 2016

    I wrote the piece not long after the event – and not being a follower of the game though aware of Leicester’s success I was not aware of it’s true cause otherwise I’d have built it into the poem. Heigh ho! However, I could do a revised version in due course.

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