Twenty-two tumbles from the tongue,
sets toes tapping, and I would be dancing
with you, if you danced; since you
do not (except horizontally, which you do
exceptionally well), I must find another way
to say, to show, that I would gladly go
toe to toe, hand in hand, along the sunny
strand (and shady too – yes, even when
life’s rains strain my fevered brain –) with you;
it’s true I haven’t got a clue
how I was lucky enough to stumble into
fumble into, mumble-bumble-rumble into
twenty-two rather splendid, never-ended
(I can but hope), years with you.
*****