On Sunday, the third of June two thousand and twelve
We see a magnificent floating flotilla;
A thousand vessels on London’s river
Snaking through the centre of the city.
There were man powered rowing and paddle boats,
Long boats, skiffs and seventeenth century pleasure boats;
On board, crew in period dress.
And Fifty four Common Wealth boats and so many others.
Bells were peeling from a boat in the river
Proclaiming Her Majesty was coming;
Signalling to the belfries along the reach of the river
Flanking the banks of old mother Thames
To ring their bells in joyous harmony.
The beautiful music, from a floating orchestra.
Together with the hooting from the boats
And the shouting from the people from the banks
A cacophony of sounds excitement and colour,
Sixty years of service to her people, this was their thanks.
The sky was gray as was the water,
Yet every moment was warm and sunny.
We see her diminutive form dressed in white apparel,
Contrasting with the scarlet and gold bedecked barge,
Stoically standing for hours, smiling, watching and waving.
On the edge of the river and on the bridges
Thousands of people were shouting and waving.
So many red white and blue flags from buildings were flying,
Never before, in British history, had the world seen such pageantry.