“But, Harwy,” she wailed, “they’re so mean to me, honey.
They actually want me to work for the money.
The servants are useless. They get on my nerves.
How come I got lumbered with nothing but nerds.
They drive me to screaming. You know it was right
that I had one beheaded last Saturday night.”
“Don’t weep my poor darling. Get up off the floor
or you’ll roll on the dog bowl and hurt yourself more.
The premier’s later. Don’t do yourself in.
You’ll star in the papers without Catherine.
The Cirque du Soleil will help cover your fear.
Just wait for lights-on before squeezing a tear.
I’m here to protect you and our little bump.
Now strap it on tightly and I’ll get the pump.”
So soon it was time for Prince Archie to come.
2 weeks old on his birth. Such a magical son.
The plan was in place. California beckoned,
Hollywood clamoured for Harry and Meghan.
“We’ll be in the money!” she gleefully cried,
“with titles galore and a prince by my side.”
The Queen had some news she delivered with clout.
“Not on your nelly – half in and half out.”
Megsie, in fury, vowed vicious reprisals
to have her revenge on the Queen’s British Isles.
The plane of escape soared away in the air.
An officer knelt beside Megsie’s chair.
“Thank you, Duchess”, he ventured to say,
“for taking our Hasno a long way away.”
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