War is not for show, a stray knight mounts to nothing, for a well-aimed arrow brings death. Foolish king, sending your children to parade, we may pray, the battle is fought by crazy Brits. It’s the only way, by a feat of greater folly Crecy will be won.
Meghan and Harry sitting in a tree, chanting, goodbye queen and country, chasing our every move so viciously. We still will come to visit, but only when we want. No paper with our name in it. Making ends meet, large ends because we still are privileged indeed.