Doreen at 86

I was a seventeen year old virgin when I married your grandfather,
a blushing bride, pure in white and pure in heart.

He slipped that ring on, and with the beauty of it all, the whole church wept.
Smiling for the birdie, we cut the cake, drank champagne and cheek to cheek,

he spun me round the village hall. I knew his first dance was going to be my last.
Don’t ask me how I knew, it’s not as if I guessed the rest, but my kidneys can’t lie.

I was so brand new for him, he was older, more used up, but I thought he was
the sea and he could be cleansed, that he didn’t mean it when he said 
                                                                                                 he’d never touch me again.