The challenge this week: A poem that captures the passing of sixty years in 100 words – ish.

.
Nineteen fifty-two.

There was a great to-do.
George cashed in his chips.
Elizabeth gathered the bits.
Rationing was still around,
But much could be bought for a pound
Churchill was PM again,
His deputy Tony Eden.

Sixty years ago
I began to grow,
In a sort of room,
That they call a womb.
That’s all you’ll want to hear
About this certain year.
I’m done with this silly rhyme
Of the queen’s accession time.

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