I was in the guard of honour,
for some function of the queen,
a week before enthronement,
that historical royal scene.
London policemen in ceremonial dress,
all soldiers as of late.
Doe-skin tunics up to the neck,
making backbones ramrod straight
Black belts with silver buckles,
all buttons shining bright,
white gloves, and medals by the score,
it truly was a sight.
Her majesty stopped in front of me,
and asked from where I‘d come,
“From Carter Street your majesty”
I said with some aplomb.
She then pointed to my medals,
and asked where I’d served the king
“Egypt and Sudan maam,”
not believing this whole thing.
She smiled, as only our queen can,
to put us at our ease,
and passed along our honour guard,
and so graciously did please.
I lined the route on her special day,
the last time her empire marched.
Troops from the snows, and prairies wide,
deep jungles and desert parched.
A quarter of the world’s population
represented by soldiers there
Then the queen in her golden coach,
passed regally, smiling fair.