Dead Duke

Mike Bell/ August 9, 2016/ www.mikebellpoems.com/ 0 comments

The Duke of Westminster is dead, today,
Who the fuck, I hear you say,

Gerald Grosvenor, billionaire, sixth Duke,
interned in Ecclestone – it is no joke.

No longer sat in Eaton Hall,
his yard, ten thousand acres all,

To be passed to his (youngish) lad –
being entitled isn’t so bad!

Three days a year they open their gates,
to give to charity, from God’s own estate.

Within succession, an obligation there,
to raise a few quid, three days each year.

No inheritance tax, to save our state,
instead a trust, ensures none paid:

The richest aford the best in advice,
whilst the others live fucked-over lives.

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