We’re in a royal pickle
It seems a bit of a do
The bastions of the cosseted
Have to reappraise their view
Among the many scrapings
Who bowed and vowed their lives
To a bunch of well-off chanciest
Where entitlement survives
Step and fetch it straightaway
Below the radar, stay unseen
Brushing, buffing shiny things
Amid palatial ways and means
N.B.
Whilst I have little sympathy for the plight of Mr Mountbatten, I do not subscribe to paparazzi photography shaming.
Where does it sit or emanate
This entity, my mind
Although it’s there, I don't know where
And strangely hard to find
Seemingly, I cannot see
The seat of my perception
A tactician of my everything
Owning up to introspection
It is a pilot automatically
Guiding or misguiding
The last word that I’ll ever say
Though irresponsibly in hiding
Looking for the perfect word
In a spree of special context
Harmonious in simplicity
In well-presented hypertext
To think out loud without excuse
Finds a perfect thought to share
Performative informative
Without compromise foursquare
Among so many perfect sayings
In settings planned to be
Can the digital compartmentalise
Construct a flawless soliloquy
