The delightful princess was still alive when I wrote this, shaking her mane like a thoroughbred filly.
The princess regrets, she’s told the queen
She much prefers her brie a little runny,
Castles too cold and dark for her, all that Chippendale
Her smile and charm is entry fee among new royals
Too lively for a still life among those painted landscapes
This poem is included in
THE SMELL OF TWEED
available here in print
or as an e-Book
in your favorite formats.