In memory of Downton’s past
come through her gates and round her drive,
for through an old and rising mist
her ghosts like visitors arrive,
come see him stand upon his step
his Lordship with a history,
like Arthur up from Camelot,
who kept his faith with ancestry,
not those who gambled at the tote
but those, surrounded by a moat,
a humble man for all of that
to smile at you and doff his hat
as his pride would stand behind him;
the Duchess dowager his eyes
who had the ear to guide him,
though just a mother all the same.
that never would deride him,
Her lady-ship, now figured blue
descendent of a colony,
who gently wore her stripes and stars
like simples and astronomy:
The under-butler combs his hair
and contemplates a malady,
finds looking at what isn’t there
as something of a tragedy,
what seems quite full around the edge
as Gladys rushes for a mop
would not decide or take a bet
that he was thinner on the top.
My lord who stands with arms akimbo
resigned to stare into his blind,
to cloak his unresolved question
and keep his valet off his mind,
who indicates a tired creep-
not after dusk but after dawn,
can’t hide the fact he didn’t sleep
to stop his early morning yawn
suggesting he should count the sheep!
What goes around must come around
and settle as the daily dust,
and down the stairs where Carmen pouts
and Joe could eat her lips I trust,
the doc would say that it’s all right
just don’t unleash that appetite!
After the Archduke Ferdinand
the storms were gathering abroad,
but Downton stood as England does
to rise or fall upon it’s sword,
again his Lordship, arms akimbo
his uniform, brushed to gleam
a batman’s bloody war, a dream
with silver brush and hot steam
and ‘Sam Brown’ polished, on a screen.
Alas time turns and every page
has seen the fading of an age,
but this kind man could never stage
the ending of his heritage.
The ghosts are gone, the mist has not,
His house still stands like Camelot.
Visit Roy’s website at roykaustin.weebly.com.