Oceans of pennants ripple wildly down the Mall,
grasped in hands so eager to affirm their truth
and watch the spectacle unfold.
Excitement builds for most who never saw the like before
and those who never sought its time yet
hurry now to join the scene.
Mixed sentiments flow freely ‘mongst the crowd
as chant takes hold and golden carriage oscillates its way
from then to now in glorious discomfort.
A king is crowned.
And subjects rise to celebrate or denigrate his rule
secure in the knowledge that history persists.
Yet still, within that pomp and circumstance
unseen and unremarked, a boy bereft
allows no tears to fall.
Tradition fails to bend despite the heartbreak
left behind an orphaning.
No chink of mourning now allowed to show
as jubilation grips the nation tight
in frenzied need.
Queen's time is run.
And though a mother's skill and love now absent
leave a vacuum none can fill a Prince must rise,
take up the mantle and endure.
A king was crowned.
The world paid witness and rejoiced whilst hidden,
deep from public view,
an inner child's heart bled a river of grief.
