In Her Dearly Departed Footsteps

Suffused in farewell mists by the river Dee, the Queen has ventured out to walk the snowfields alone, far beyond Balmoral Castle one last time, one last morra, and there shortly after the next she'll-depart-these her well-loved Scottish glens like so many a rare red bushy-tailed squirrel. And the world that she cheered and warmed many centuries hence shall be hushed - hushed into a shocked silence, petrified as she leaves the stone steps of her throne, sullen and icy cold. As her footsteps, leave-us-all, solemnly-behind we see the rabble and the gentry huntsman bowing their-lowly-heads in kind. Our noble Queen has trodden a path that has never frozen, wavered or forked her pristine footprints never stumbled, never soiled stained-the-ground they a tightrope walked. They melt away still pristine from-us-now one and all. As tears like suspended- tiaras earnestly heartfelt fall. Her hounds are heard-baying - howling frantically in the grand hall. Now her walking cane isn't needed anymore Now that the mantle of her crown courts another-rightful son and heir. Now she waves goodbye with a regal wave of her royal hand. And all her subject's remarks she-ruled-our-land with grace and dignity that no other could likewise command. Your Majesty, we loved you dearly and would all take an oath on the stand and there proclaim she loved all her people, all her subjects in equal proportions, living in however many distant lands. God, Save the Queen and God-guides-all-of-mankind, humankind in her dearly departed footsteps.