Tough old roses

For Sandy, forever – forever

Tough old roses are hardest to pluck
from West Cork hedgerows to Oxfordshire muck,
no sentiment or flowers to muddle the day
when you move into Kimmeridge clay.

We gather by the river to remember you, old friend,
and kiss you off the earth on your journey without end,
we will drop our pants to Peter when he’s reading out your roll,
like the Miller’s Wife before us we’ll show him the Glory… Whole!.

Angels all together back to back we’re fighting on
with two fingers to the Devil we are stealing all his songs,
dancing at the crossroads going down upon our knees,
what the heck forever isn’t half as long as dreams.

With freedom from oppression stretching over Himalay
a rainbow appaloosa proto mama on the way,
for chastity’s a punishment and modesty is hearts,
somewhere in between them we have all been little tarts,

Hard as Grace O’Malley, pulling for Fastnet,
If you think this is sentimental, you ain’t seen nothing yet.
You weave our hearts together, love, we know you care. 
As we dance with your Valhalla, thanks for the cakes! See you there. 

Tough old roses are hardest to pluck
from West Cork Hedgerows to Oxfordshire muck,
no sentiment or flowers to muddle the day
when you move into Kimmeridge clay.

George Roberts
7 July 2016