She is a dichotomy;
The top and bottom of the British character,
And the contradiction in the middle;
Sitting for commitment’s sake
Upon fortune’s worn Coronation chair.
The wealthiest of them all
And yet the one who cares more for the common man
Than any other Lorded sort,
Or elected technician,
And the answer to republican demands.
The defender of a faith that her people
No longer surrender to
Yet whose comforts and certainties
They yearn to return to
Just to feel complete in their isolation.
The head of the finest armed force of them all,
Which has to be these days in order
To ward off the cuts of strutting governments
Who seem to assume that a stock
Of nuclear topped rockets is sufficient.
The keeper of a thousand years worth
Of the World’s most influential monarchy,
That dominates the breed,
And succeeds simply because of its ability
To change whilst appearing not to.
And as lesser Princesses and courtesans
Have come and gone
She has endured and is sure to do so
Because she is the embodiment of honour
And has made the job her own.
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