Funeral of Prince Philip

It’s too late now:
I can’t get him back,
reach out my royal arm,
keep him from harm

stop the Land Rover,
order a rethink

There is no-one beside me
– no nudge, no wink –
just practitioners of sorrow 
out front, too visible, 
no tomorrow

I wear a mask and sit alone:
no laughter in the night
no rolling stone

Was there something I should have done?
Escaped to Greece or Denmark,
Corfu in the sun
or rain?

Dug deep, started again?

No, it’s too late now:
black suits, black wheels,
no-one to tell me how he feels,
no witty, careless remark 

Just dark