Long Live the Queen
We thought it was the thing to do.
It seemed like a good idea at the time.
“God save the Queen!” we chanted, and
“Long live the Queen!”
God, we were fools.
At first, the signs were subtle.
Her Majesty moved with a light quick step and
Her face remained as fresh as a girl’s.
“What remarkable cosmetics,” the ladies cooed,
And sought in vain for the formula.
As the years passed, Queen Victoria’s peers
Turned wrinkled and gray, then passed away.
She remained as sprightly as ever, pinpoint arguments
Pricking away at all our proposals. Her wisdom outstripped us all.
By the time we were sure, it was far too late.
We had made the Queen immortal –
We had prayed the Queen immortal.
The scientists proved it with whirring gadgets;
The priests proved it with Bible verses;
But Time’s evidence was the most impeccable of all.
What could we do?
We couldn’t stop praying.
That would be a sin.
Don’t think for a minute we considered it.
(All right, so we considered it, but we would never do it.)
It was the Bishop of Canterbury who found the solution.
“The meek,” he said, “shall inherit the Earth.”
The rest of us set about leaving as expeditiously as possible.
Space dirigibles were built, crewed, and stocked for lengthy voyages.
As we left, we prayed.
“God save the Queen,
Meek and mild.”
“Long live the Queen,
Meek and mild.”
“The meek shall inherit the Earth.”
May 16 2008, 22:44:10 UTC 13 years ago