Below the painted boats, and through the dark,
a shadow stumbles, praying for the sun–
some mumbled, pleading call for dawn to come–
but God’s a jester now, and will not hark.
Then whistles sound, and dogs begin to bark:
across the sand, a last despairing run,
a single shout, a single silent gun,
a single lethal bullet finds its mark…
His body sinking slowly to the beach,
with shaking fingers punching at the ‘phone,
that lifetime scoop is just within his reach;
he files his final copy with a groan:
“The Princess lives! Yes, I have seen her face!
She walks in beauty still, she walks in grace…”