There will be no birthday message
From me today.
This influenced child
That has sucked England's nipple dry since his arrival, Forgetting the soil
His feet once graced.
Whatever happened to the first child
You half raised.
You half saw as the crease in his walk straightened,
Where is he
Where is your heir to the thrown
Where is the back
That straddled your family name
Where is your son
Where is your son!
For he is absent,
Like the birthday message
You stubbornly wait for.