Through the glass doors I saw her pause,
And gather herself for an entrance.
No hint of a waddle, she paced like a model,
Which the lady had certainly been - once.
Five paces down, then pause and turn,
Like a barquentine expertly tacked.
Then pace on some more, turn and pace to the bar,
No-one else seemed to notice the act.
So pausing to think what to order to drink,
This fine middle-aged English rose,
And still quite a beauty, she just went off duty,
Took off a glove and picked her nose.
©1997 C. R. Hilton