Standing on the Royal Mile,

that cobbled road from Holyrood to the Castle,

retained by bicycle-rack barricades,

we wait with loyal subjects and curious foreigners

for the Royal moment.

Honor guards starched with measured precision,

bagpipe bands blailing away,

hang gliders trailing the Union Jack,

create a festival atmosphere,

with a hint of nervous anticipation.

We crane our necks up the street.

I am jostled by a Japanese photographer

But I give no ground.

Then suddenly, the plumed Royal Guard trot by

and close behind, an open carriage.

A respectful “hurrah” swells up from the crowd,

and here she comes, in suit and hat

the color of thistle

the princes at her side,

waving the Royal Wave.

The carriage clotters by, and

it is over in ten seconds.

Some royal fellow in a closed limo rolls by

with the Crown Jewels, we later learn.

But none of the rest matters.

We have been

to see the Queen.

(Edinburgh, July 1999)

[Thanks, Fam! d;-) ]

08/16/2003

Posted on 08/16/2003
Copyright © 2026 Bruce W Niedt