Spare

Spare

Oh, Harry lad, what have you done?
You were cheeky, exuberant, full of fun.
The epitome of a second son.
The most popular Royal, some said. Number One.

There was no rush for you to marry,
You had all the time in the world to tarry.
To support you through life’s burdens you’d carry
You just needed to find the right girl, Harry.

Ah well…..to cut a long story short
Along comes Meghan. Not really the sort
To understand the procedures of Court
And bristled to curtsy like she ought.

Some say he was under her spell.
Maybe he was. I didn’t know him that well,
Only through stories that newspapers sell
But rightly or wrongly, for Meghan he fell.

Now, all gone is the lad we knew
Both in spirit and body, too.
Harry, Meghan and family flew
To a celebrity life, without further ado.

Then he was driven to write a book.
People like us, we’ve had a look
And thought ‘What a blinkin’ liberty he’s took,
‘Spouting venom from his cosy nook’.

Who would have thought that he would dare
To lay his ‘raging demons’ bare
In a book entitled simply: ‘Spare’?
Shame on you, H. You’ve become a nightmare.

Meanwhile, in a book shop we’ll tut-tut and frown,
Knowing the hurt he’s causing the Crown.
The title of ‘King’, lad, is much more than a noun.
We turn the damn book upside down.

Oh, Harry lad, if you really knew
What your family must be thinking of you.
To sell them for money you ‘need’ to accrue?
The Crown has had its traitors before. Go and join the queue.

Well, Meghan, does it fill you with unbridled joy
To be pulling Harry’s strings like a toy?
Now so many say (shout it out. Don’t be coy!)
‘He’s not a Prince. He’s not a Duke.
HE’S A VERY NAUGHTY BOY!’