Former Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher has finally left
and her many admirers are feeling bereft.
Others, however, have a different view
and describe the baroness as a hard-hearted shrew.
A state funeral will be provided, although they do not call it that,
but to pay for it to taxpayers they will pass the hat.
Big Ben will be silent as the gun carriage wends its way
and the horses pulling it have been forbidden to neigh.
Rumour had it at the Palace they think for a politician that is over the top
but they could not find a way to such nonsense put a stop.
The Queen has been advised she and her husband the funeral should attend
even though it must be sending poor Philip round the bend.
The guest list for the occasion has this and that surprise
in the names of those chosen to commemorate her demise.
They include such eminences as Jeremy Clarkson, the guy of Top Gear,
who is just waiting for the day he will be dubbed as a peer.
Nelson Mandela, called a terrorist by Thatcher, is on the list,
but because of infirmity has had to resist.
We will never know if Madiba for her affront decided to forgive her,
but perhaps his best revenge is being able to outlive her.
No Pinochet family member, it seems, has been asked to attend
which, if Margaret only knew, it would her surely offend.
Augusto was her knight in shining armour
and, even while tossing bodies into the sea, never tried to harm her.
Still, a women becoming Prime Minister was no mean task,
and in her achievement she could rightfully bask.
She was able to break the old boys’ glass ceiling
and left her male colleagues squealing and reeling.
David Cameron’s performance almost beggars belief
as he tries to take on the role of mourner in chief.
Does David, who was brought up as a toff,
hope some of Margaret’s grocer’s daughter aura on him will rub off?