|One week more and I am sixty five.
Forty one born, the Pearl Harbour year.
I sit alone in the Star, waiting for my family.
Looking at the jacketed book
That I frequently come back to see.
I can see four Frans Holbein paintings,
Fat portraits of the Renaissance.
Reminding me of my own rebirth,
A joyful lunch taken late.
The conversation works, we eat gratefully.
A book of portraits, a volume of lives.
They do not stare at us; we stare at them.
Still hungry after all these years.
And Liz just kissed me as I went.
Passing strange, that I have just now,
Drawn another portrait picture.
A sketch, a study quick and alive.
One week more and I am sixty five.
(written one week before my 65th birthday on January 27, 2006)
Note: "The Star' is a cafe in Hepburn Spings, Victoria
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