You have to live with things for a long time
to know if they’re any good. Like letting wine
age, I suppose. Or as Dr Johnson said
about books – a classic is simply what’s read
by a great many people over a great many years.
Well, we’ve made it thus far, so much longer than
either managed with anyone else, in our lost youth.
If opened, can the reader put us down?
If poured out in deep glasses, do we have
bouquet and body? Does the connoisseur
savour us slowly, letting our happiness
enchant his taste buds – before he spits it out?
If you have any thoughts on this poem, Tom Vaughan would be
pleased to hear them.