James The First (Poetry)

(i.m. Sean Connery)

The unthinkable has happened — Bond is dead
and a million lady spies are wearing black
man to myth so glamourously wed
the spinning reel of decades losing track

We dreamed he was immortal like the gods
protected by the mysteries of fame
to overcome despite fantastic odds
the magic held — encoded in his name

The news he is no more a seismic shock
to undercover worlds of espionage
where politics and power roll and rock
and Bond’s elusive character loomed large

So who will save us now by stealth and gun?
Who else protects the nation as it sleeps?
We surely can’t believe the bad guys won
James Bond is dead and Moneypenny weeps