I don’t really know what I think about the Queen’s death

apart from how old I am,

how time passes,

how lost they look,

how everything ends

everything dies,

how like Ozymandias,

nothing will remain.


I don’t know how I feel about the Queen’s death

..except that I feel as I do when,

with hands sticky and over-eager

for plump, juicy, blackberries,

I reach across a spiderweb

and clumsily break a thread,

drooping the remainder,

leaving it lopsided,



less useful,

less beautiful




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