A Jamaican Schoolboy’s Memory of Elizabeth the Queen

I saw her stroll before my eyes,
A royal monarch establishing ties,

Parading at Sabina Park.
The glamorous scene was far from stark.

A royal monarch from afar,
Her royal consort like some tsar,

Waving their hands in jubilee,
Children responding in joyful glee.

Jamaica, once jewel of the British Crown,
Parading her monarch up and down.

The year was nineteen fifty three,
The Caribbean island not yet free

From ancient British monarchy.
Tied to Britain, as ever could be.

And I, a schoolboy at that time,
At eighteen years still in my prime,

Saw women curtsy and men bow,
While children watched them to and fro.

My father, a policeman with some rank,
In starched white uniform, quite swank,

His bayonet and sword in shield,
Their symbol not at all concealed.

Security provided with great pride,
His skill at this most fully applied.

A superintendent with much class,
His uniform shining with polished brass.

Though years have past the view is clear,
As if the scenery was still quite near.

Echoing in my mind this very day,
Is pomp and ceremony in display,

With children singing a local song,
Inviting all to strum along.

The Caribbean sparkling morning breeze
Made that event a day to please.

The children, singing melodiously,
Hosted the royal pair — O so gloriously.

“Long Time Gal Mi Neva See You…”
Burst forth the lyrics of Miss Lou.

The second line stirred up the band.
“Come Mek Mi Hold Your Hand…”

Elizabeth, the Queen, and Philip, the Duke
Could not this friendly ballad rebuke.

The celebration gave all a cheer.
To some, it even left a tear.

For me, a schoolboy at age eighteen,
The memory is indubitably quite keen.

The island, no longer a colony of the crown…
Since nineteen sixty two, is on her own.

Jamaica now marches forward at her own beat,
Standing victoriously on her own two feet.

Her head to the skies, she declares without fear,
Knowing with certainty the Lord will hear:

“Eternal Father, Bless Our Land,
Grant us With Thy Mighty Hand.”

PASSING OF THE TORCH
FROM QUEEN TO KING

September Twenty Twenty Two.
The Royal crown’s passed on anew.

Elizabeth now at peaceful rest.
And Charles her son assumes the quest.

The church bells chant a soulful tune.
Royal music lyrically hewn.

To shepherd in a noble king.
Joyfully the church bells ring.

From queen to king the nation forges on.
A queen departed, with her reign now done.

Her mantle now adorns a king.
Her son, her heir, bearing the monarch’s ring.

And now his subjects sing with glee.
Their spirits lifted, melodiously.

Honoring their belated queen.
Turning to King Charles, on whom all glean.

Sing yet our praises of this queen.
Departed fresh, still firm her mien.

Far reaching her dominion’s realm.
Her loyal son now at the helm.

Victorious reigns the British crown.
King Charles now sitting on the throne.