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.