A Princely Penance

For all Saxe-Coburg birthdays Britons fly the British flag:
Salute the Queen Gawblesser with the Union's cross-patch rag,
Salute her fossil consort for the jolly British way
His diplomatic tact so neatly fits our present day;
And, not to be out-tributed, the heir in waiting too
Must get his little kowtow with the old red, white and blue.
And baby Edward, fifty-five, should never be forgot;
Nor even Princess Anne, who is least worthless of the lot.
Tax-dodgers, noisy racists, cranks, entitled little twits
Must have their British pomp as British circumstance befits:
Lest others see a touch of Ruritania in our ranks,
We rah-rah for them all with our most sycophantic thanks.

But this year there is one for whom the colours will not fly:
The slightly wormy apple of his mother's glassy eye,
Too loyal to his chums to see that in among them sat
A sex offender got up as a friendly kleptocrat.
Because the vulgar foreigner's conveniently dead,
His Highness seemed to feel that there was no more to be said
Except that all the fuss had made him really rather tired,
And that his own nobility was much to be admired.
Uncharitable persons might have thought that he behaved
As if his clan's great Empire had been built by folk enslaved;
And so he is withdrawing from the business of the Crown,
While grovelling is rationed until all the fuss dies down.

Orgasmina Mite