Was it Marc Antony in a daring moment who said,
“The evil that men do lives after them,
while the good is oft interred with their bones”?
Or did Shakespeare make it up for effect,
like the slimy Hamlet talking dirty
to the pure-as-possible-under-the-circumstances Ophelia:
If the son of your dad’s boss hits on you,
how do you say no,
no to the lord’s privilege?
The Lady survived beyond the limits of her mind,
a formidable machine that molded her country,
hauled it bawling and bitching into the 21st century,
while the 20th century dinosaurs chewed their cud
and mumble now, “Good riddance,”
as if their pensions would exist in an England
where humans dig up rocks
like dogs digging up old carcasses.
Her loyal Sancho would not leave her
even in death. Now she has not left us
but forgot to say goodbye and good luck.