THE TIMES

CHRISTOPHER FOHL

THE TIMES

The prince’s funeral was today, It was televised.

The florist down the street said how her flowers would have been nicer.

The tailor said that he could have done a better job on the royal’s clothes. My priest spoke of the chapel, its grandeur and goth, But no one noticed death.

The child only cared that school was out the day, The mother still prepared the usual supper, The sun rose and sank in the same fashion, And the cars drove to their destinations with only minor hesitation. The moon shined and winked out of existence again, Just another moment, A grain of sand in an endless desert.

PHOTOGRAPHY | SHANNON STANFORTH GROWTH