I was perusing the periodicals in the *ahem* adjunct library this morning, when I came across this gem from NR:
Now is the winter of our disinterment
Made summer by the glare of media hype.
Here fought I manfully; now my remains
Are brought to light from ‘neath a parking lot.
And if the good interred with my bones
Be yet redeemed from Tudor calumny,
My shade receiving then strange new respect
It ne’er did win in life, ‘tis no surprise:
‘Twas ever thus with dead Plantagenets.
Now civil war gives way to MPs’ jests
And Englishmen drive Volvos to the mall
On blood-soaked ground o’er which I reigned, where shops
Sell chicken vindaloo with tea and scones.
Oh, cursed be he who parks upon my bones!
It actually made me LOL. But with a tinge of lament for the Outlaw King.