As I watched the youthful sounding Yorkshire Poet

on stage in the furthest outpost that Lancashire once provided

but its self the gateway to boundless enthusiasm

and the cradle of civilisation in the wild, tempting lands,

I thought of you.

 

My stirred thoughts crammed with metaphor, with simile and symbolism,

the passion of friendship that flowed in the duck shaped earphones you

handed over with smiling mocking bow on my fortieth birthday

and the thank you that passes between us when needing

to crib from each other’s notes.