Death in a Ditch
Please will some well-wishers tell me which
Direction to take to find the ditch
Where King Boris’s body may be finally found
Does he Remain far below or above the ground?
Did he Leave, in truth, any tangible trace
Of his humble humanity to the whole human race?
I have searched many miles, both high and low
As around old England’s streets I go
But am unable to perceive that pompous place
Where worshippers bewail his angelic face
And, please, inform me – O where, O where
Will I find golden locks of his handsome hair?
That I might a minor memento save
From our humongous hero’s gargantuan grave
So, when I’m deceased, to my children I will
Leave some Remains in their father’s will
By which to recall promises made by a man
Who would respect any party’s preposterous plan
He knew how to spend other peoples’ money
Though he might not consider my poetry funny
Let’s admit that he could have been remarkably rich
Had he not kept his promise to die in a ditch