17th April 2014

Sonnet 130

You're gone - I could do Page 3 in The Sun,

Collar and cuffs Elizabethan red,

Lose this academic's frizz of grey dun,

Kind thoughts and sympathy squashing my head.

Brass blonde to the end  - what's so wrong with white?

Decades of bronzer sunken in your cheeks,

Channel shopping hopping: deathbed delight;

"Part of the QVC Family" - that reeks.

What you're revered for - what the public know;

Strength; integrity; judgement staying sound;

Precious gems left semi as they fade, go:

Civic goddess falling softly to ground.

Condolence cards remind me you were rare:

I'm scared what I'll do now there's no compare.