I saw her in the Maundy aisle
of steady stream, robed city life,
my viewpoint from cathedral stall.
So short beneath the vaulted heights,
but stature tall as gazed about,
an eye caught from amongst the crowd,
as sight, finite, felt infinity.
I have the invitation card,
calligraphy in serif styled,
but on the day for charity,
she suffered cold, did not appear;
with faithful Philip, met instead.
And so her daughter, Princess Royal,
and Prince, now King, those years ago.
But Monarch then, in violet haze,
amongst the waves, her people, sea,
a gracious isle of dignity,
against dull dun of polished tiles,
our Queen alone, purple in aisle.
Stephen Kingsnorth (Cambridge M.A., English & Religious Studies), retired to Wales from ministry in the Methodist Church due to Parkinson’s Disease, has had pieces published by on-line poetry sites, printed journals and anthologies, including Poetry Potion.
His blog is at https://poetrykingsnorth.wordpress.com/