The Passin o a Queen by John Hodgart wis a jynt winner in the 2023 McCash Prize.
Lizzie’s awa an oot pour the pieties,
Droonin maist o the land in grievin,
(But shunnin ony improprieties)
Tae wing her on the wey tae Heiven,
As if we aw had lost oor mither,
(Queues roon streets for miles weavin)
As weel as oor sister an oor brither.
In fact it’s faur ayont believin
An I’ve neer kent o’t for anither.
Hauf the world gied up breathin.
But mibbie for her it wis a blessin
She didnae see whit she’d become:
Gey near a saunt I’m kinna guessin,
Wi obsequies tae lea ye dumb
An neer-endin encomiums,
Some fu o guff, some fu o unction,
Some weel mixed wi opiums,
As gabblin hauf-wits, lackin gumption,
Thocht it decreed, by God’s ain will,
The maist important thing eer seen.
As if the planets shid staun still
For the passin o a queen.
Yet ither things I daurnae mention,
In case ye think I’m on a rant,
Noo that we’ve witnesst her Ascension;
Her coffin, the Ark o the Covenant.
While Putin’s war aye grinds awa
In a land sair battert, bluidy an raw.
John Hodgart