I have a bright imagination of
The birth of a prince that purports to be
Everyone’s; a thunderstorm from aloft
Commented, echo of divinity,
Something said but understood variously;
‘The heavens opened’, said someone from the BBC.
Once delivered, all through the night they talked,
Were interviewed, congratulations flowing
From every uncorked scene, while lightning forked,
Thick drops of rain a revelry bestowing
On the royal birth, whose boy’s name forgoing,
Yet in that vision the wide world the full joy knowing.
