Our Gracious Homeopath
Dear Great Queen Beth, how close to death
Your Highness might be, though your wealth
Perhaps ensures you pension, breath,
And no need for the National Health.
Your Majesty, you live – Great Briton!
You're royal by Vox Pop's appointment –
And now we pray that you'll stay fit on
Homeopathic pills and ointment.
Perhaps it's time, Ma'am, you took action,
To save your source of medication –
No effort – you'll need just a fraction
To save alt. doctors for the Nation.
Some droplets stop the country failing;
Some dabs hold back the tide of tyranny;
Now you're Official, don't be ailing.
(Or else we may turn Helen-Mirreny.)
A little pinch, you will agree,
May save their tinctures – cash well-spent.
And even Republicans like me
Are right behind you – one per cent.