Oh How I Miss The Empire Poem by Linda Hepner

Oh how I miss the Empire
Said ‘Cilla with a sigh.
Those were the days you'd hire
A solid British guy

Who'd tip his hatless forelock
And join up in the ranks
Of patriots in Porlock
While we would give them thanks

In Croydon High School accents,
Etonian or King's,
Which, if they made no fact sense,
Were promises of things

Now relegated, trashed in
That Estuary slime,
A democraticthink-bin,
Where lords are out of time.

Our cricket didn't help us.
Our India is past.
Our Greek and Latin Domus
Has BCC'd at last.