Number 99.
Above the waist,
below the belt.
First it’s Harry, now it’s Kate,
Poor old Royals, don’t they hate
It when they sunbathe in the nude,
Within the lens range of some dude,
Intent on snapping up a shot,
To sell to someone for a lot!
No matter how they cover it,
There is no way to smother it;
Someone somewhere always will,
Print it like some sad cheap thrill.
The paparazzi seem to get
Away with it again, and yet,
You’d think it an illegal trade;
These saucy pictures that they’ve made.
And if no other law will do,
I am sure that were I to
Train my telescope to peep,
I’d be arrested as a creep,
And charged as I’m escorted from,
The Chateau as a peeping Tom!
© Stephen Saunders
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