A short tribute to a life well lived, a meditation on time, memory and the silence that follows loss.
Hang on, mate,I’m old, not obsolete,Still rather nifty,Still on my feet. I’m nearer fifty than seventy,Yet you’re convincedI’m running on empty. Last year’s model,That I may be,Yet there is no shortage ofAbility. Give me a chance,Still, I can danceAnd carry a tune,Yet you want to banish meFrom the workroom. When all is told,Do I make…