12th April 2014

Sonnet 127


Death robbed my prerogative "It's Not Fair!",

Mum, you left no more than a  father's name,

Still strangers think me the politic heir,

But incidental fame bred offspring shame:

It was crap hiding from exposure's power

Behind forced rhubarb rhubarb smiling face,

Anon anon: the nameless hokey's bower,

Fifteen minutes: all it takes to disgrace.

For her life's celebration - wear no black,

Not what she wanted.  Cry - let mourners seem

To reflect her colours (what they now lack),

 Teardrop'd rainbow: covenanted  esteem.

A daughter left, becoming in her woe

Just like her mother.  I can't fight it, so...