The Princess

I recently read a poem about Princess Diana...sadly it didn't evoke the same memories in me as it did the author. All I could think of was the over-emotional response from a hysterical public fuelled by the cult of personality and the popular press/media.

Still it did prompt me to write a (admittedly not very good) poem in response.

The day Diana died
I though my luck was fried
No animosity
She meant nothing to me

My plans worked out alright
To Paris. Caught my flight
Without a further thought
For all the grief she'd wrought

Returned. I was ashamed
Marilyn had been renamed
We had a Queen of Hearts
It all had gone to far.

In all this false alarm
The British lost their calm.