With the precision
of the Queens Guards at Buckingham,
each evolving generation changes
the time honored uniforms
of the red-coated-beaver-hatted-protectors
into a fashion it can live with
and yet,
still
believe in.
Pity those who blindly depend
upon the discarded trappings of traditions
lying limp in the castle court yard
while the newly uniformed brigade
marches through its paces.
Poems by Ken 