In a small village there grew
a beauty pure, and true
a flower beyond pristine
a shy rose not yet seen
Blessed are those who can hear the screams of flowers picked to soon.
A woman grounded in earthly hue
came to light in Royal blue.
A lady of depth and substance
towered above pomp and circumstance.
Blessed are those who can cradle a wilted body without pause, or fear.
With our heads bent in silent contemplation,
we bid farewell to the conscience of a nation.
To “England’s Rose” we say good-bye.
Good-bye to our lovely Princess Di’
Blessed are the wingless angels that walk in the valley among us.