It

It comes in error up the estuary,

bleak remnant of the hands-off hand of God;

attains to overnight celebrity;

enters the bosom of a populace agog

with good intentions – we want to make it

one of our own –

and dies of racket

within sight of the English throne

where it is posthumously crowned.

It quite literally dies of sound –

of the rumpus of humanity

congregated in large numbers.

Later, interpreters of sonic bleep

intuit peace was not what it had come for.