Would she really understand the true meaning

The breakfast table
Far from sparse
A sprig of the holy thorn
A farce
perhaps tradition
Our Long serving queen
The illuminati
Its Feels obscene

In Somerset
To Glastonbury
The uncle of Jesus
Came
to Wearyall hill
And planted his staff
On a place so still

It supposedly overlooked the town
And every Christmas
Sets its crown

A sprig is cut
And taken to
The illuminati
One who will do

Whatever
By her shredded wheat
And duchy dairy
She can eat

And remember
That in Palestine
Children suffer
Not hers or mine
But someone else’s children
Who
should be happy
All life through

But her beloved Israel
Have made the darkness
And blown the gale
Into their lives
And all they do
Is cry their hearts out

And its true
Sadness and their tragedy
Joseph probably knew it too