Diana, Princess Of Wales, Memorial Fountain (2004) Poem by DM W

The fabled followers of fashion are drawn here
To mourn the Princess of Hearts; England's modern rose.
O they surround this 'sacred' site in their thousands.
They are attracted like mad moths to a light bulb.
Why are they here? Why do they need this granite shrine?
To converse with the spectres of trite sentiment?
Perhaps they've assembled to prove they still exist;
By making the ground wet with their crocodile tears.
Yes...they are here for something that is evident:
Yet it's a something they can't quite articulate.
Perhaps some kind of Holy Grail that is not here.
It never was. And deep down, I think they know that.