Still beautiful, in the way the rain over the marsh

Is beautiful, with its storm-light like the gleam

Of grey on an axe edge. Still beautiful,

As the howling of estuary gales through sedge,

A note impossible to replicate, and unexpected.

 

A note impossible to replicate, you are

Nevertheless, now you have come downstairs,

Still beautiful, with your Hitler Youth shorts

Your Diane Keaton hat, and your GPS,

And you will be still beautiful, falling on your arse,

Trudging your way up Wessenden, the dogs behind you:

Still beautiful, when you all turn up bedraggled,

Wrecked by wind and rain, seeking the stove,

Smeared with clarts and cow-clap -

And that is just the dogs -  and yet,

Still beautiful, to me, and to whoever hears:

Still beautiful, my wife of twenty years.