Come husband, dance some steps with me,
Across the midnight, satin sea.
White knight of mine let ballet's mime
Your birthday celebration be.

Fair city of our saviour's rock,
Where longships found their ancient dock,
Let troglodytes' historic site,
It's secrets of the past unlock.

Where burning Catherine's lusts rampaged,
And Steel Joe's paranoia raged,
Where Lara's theme and love assuaged,
While Groucho's namesake's war was raged.

Come husband, dance these steps with me,
But can you guess where they might be?
Come, follow where Nijinsky's heir,
Shall be my birthday gift to thee.

Sixty years, your sun now past its zenith,
Eat some strawberries, wear a shady hat and watch the tennis.
Ease back a bit, buy a Lloyd Loom chair,
Invest in larger pants and maybe perm your hair;
I think, don't you, that you have done your bit?
Time for comfy shoes, flat heels, a broader fit.

Babysitter, yes, an honourable role,
For you whose life began when trains still ran on coal.
Well used as such by Nathan, Josh, Jude and Brady,
Your place is now to serve, now you're a six times Tena Lady.
The better class of granny doesn't rage against the dying of the light,
The better class of granny takes her teeth out, drinks
her cocoa, has an early night.

Time to dispense with saucy garments brief and daring.
As Thatcher said, the older, looser flesh is not for baring.
And all that bedroom stuff, now that's extremely ...
Inappropriate for ladies of a certain age, ... and most unseemly.
The kind of stuff one reads about in certain lower types of paper
Is not for gentle ladies, who must eschew that class of caper!

These words of wisdom you must surely understand,
Apply to women only, not to the sixty-year-old man.
No! No! The gentleman sexagenarian
Must be virile, lascivious, sexy - an ardent hairy man!
But stay ... such thoughts must no more mire your fragrant mind,
You're sixty, you must now leave all of that behind ...

The gilded barge, the tree-clad slope,
The soft, white hair of soft, white older folk;
The fawn-clad gents, the ladies' low slung busts,
Their regiment, The Queen's own National Trust.

Possessed of chair and tea-room table place,
Mistrustful of my cheerful, smiling face,
Belligerent and bellicose with disapproving stare,
The fierce old duffers misinterpret, tut and glare.

If I were asked, unlikely though this were,
To say who best bore witness to their creed,
Who loved and loved, so loved the world as he,
And turned the cheek, forgave, though truth to tell,
He never once condemned; who never bore
A grudge; whose head has never harboured thoughts
Of meanness, malice, selfishness or greed;
Who'd give his life, I'm sure of this, for yours.
I should not need to think for long, nor search
Too far.  For such a one has graced my life
Whose dignity and simple honour bright,
Has been my guide through two Abuja tours.
This good and gentle man must surely find
His God when all he loves are left behind.

Of all the ones I've chased and sought,
Of all the ones I've held and caught,
Of all the few I've loved and lost,
Who brought their fire and left their frost,
Of all the ones who lit my day,
Of all the ones with whom I lay,
Of all the few who made me cry,
Who made me live and want to die,
Of all of them who passed my time,
And prompted me to doggerel rhyme,
There's only one who's filled my cup,
Who's filled the empty corners up
And made me whole and great and true,
Of all of them, there's only you,
My love, my love, just you, just you.

Dampish folds of flabby flesh,
Bulge through the straining fishnet mesh,
And sprouting tufts of tangled russet,
Overwhelm the cleft-held gusset.

Forty years have taken flight,
Since I beheld that glorious sight,
Yet I retain and see again,
That sleeping beauty on the train.

The longer view, from our window,
Across the field where golden hares
Dance and play for the rising sun
To the stream in the valley bed
Where fat, slow cows munch thick green grass;
Then the horse-strewn slopes
Of the farther side where the sheepdog
Pinned the running girl, who I love,
And is for me,
My Longer View.

The Northern snows this year did send,
A threat of winter without end;
But all such long, hard winter's bring,
A late but longed-for April spring,
And with this springtime's scented air,
Came late but lovely, Willa-Claire.

Said Jude "Oh baby girl of mine,
You kept me waiting such a time"
"Well obviously" said Willa-Claire,
"I couldn't come before my chair!"

The subtle pressure of your hand on mine,
While dancing close that time, was that a sign?
Soft contact in the car, our arms and thighs,
Our songs, when words seemed apt, engaging eyes?
Oblivious to all when you were there,
And every guilty glance a longing stare,
Too terrified to breathe a word of this,
Too cautious even for the three-cheek-kiss,
Obsession growing deeper by the day,
'Till hopeless, aching, love held total sway
Until, despite the silent war I'd fought,
I found my tongue in sweet, dark, Ruby Port.

And then, Dear God in heaven, bless thy name,
My Darling, Zoe said, "I feel the same".

Six days have gone, the longest in my life
Six endless, crawling, creeping, desp'rate days
Each moment like a twisting, heated knife
Your face the sole sharp focus through the haze.
My heart has never loved like this before,
I ache to press my lips on yours, and hold
Your lovely body in my arms once more,
I will not eat or sleep 'till all is told.
'Till we have told the world and reaped the storm,
My life cannot go forward dammed by lies,
And all is endless night, no chance of dawn,
Without the light, the strongest flower dies.
We both know now why love is called the blues
But we can change the colour, if we choose.

Though I'm sometimes idle and let you take
The major part
Of boring things like feeding cats, and though
I sometimes belch and fart
And snore, though sometimes histrionic,
Temperamental, suffer for my art,
You have in me one constant part which never
Irritates or lets you down,
My heart.

And though we sometimes quarrel, growl and
Snap when in the car,
And sometimes bossy, know-all Aries bumps
Your soaring Leo star,
And failed diets, too much work and poverty
Our pleasant humours mar,
I know I have in you the perfect mate; better
By far than others, better yet
By far.

Outside your house above the club, the rains were almost done.
We met and spoke forgotten words, beneath a golden sun.
My life was barren, empty, cold, my race was all but run,
While yours was like an opening flower, a season scarce begun;

Yet hopeless though my foolish heart, its aspirations knew,
It hurled all cautious sense aside and fell in love with you.

And through my night of cloud and rain, your sun began to shine
Against all reason I began, to think you could be mine,
We grew together, laughed in joy and this new life was born,
I turned back from my darkling day and joined you in your dawn.

You are my sun, my shining light, my springtime's dancing hares,
My endless summer's golden days, my autumn's wood-smoke airs,
You are the fire within my soul, the laughter in my eyes,
My muse, my words, my love, my life, wherein my meaning lies.