This afternoon a Prince died,
My age.
Taken by a tree that smashed
Him from the skies.
I expected my gay, driving radio
To convert itself,
Into a Royal dirge machine.

It did not, and I was surprised.
If it had,
I would have been annoyed.
Death carries no privileges,
Except a news-flash for the known.
The unknown do more
Dying, all around, all the time.

Even the living have died,
All ages.
Taken by others' privileges that smash
Them from the blue skies,
That seem to last forever for children.
But fade away,
Growth puts you back in line.