You and I are at the sink
We’re making martinis
‘bout time
Don’t you think?
Beefeaters my gin
Your choice Bombay
We’ve tried many others
But don’t often stray
You are very precise
Mix yours 4 to 1
Me, not so particular
Vermouth, almost none
I’ll take an olive
You like a twist
If there’s no fruit
You’ll use ‘Lemon Mist’
The first sip brings a smile
And good conversation
There’s nothing quite like
This Royal Libation
We sip and enjoy
Gaze out at the view
And offer a toast
Here’s to Life, Here’s to Love, Here’s to you
Millenia sits within the golden round: generations in diamonds and a lineage in ruby.
Opulence, hand in hand with duty, flickers in candlelit banquets and the murmurs of treaties signed.
Noblemen and ladies in waiting, servants, secretaries and Beefeaters, swirl and meld together all,
Adding colours and contrasts, shades and hues to a timeless tapestry: a timeline regal and royal.
Ruler by blood, chosen by God - a hereditary right, role and responsibility shrouded in silk.
Conquering lands and chartering futures, brethren challenged by broken communions.
Head of vast nations protecting small villages, hands stretch over oceans that pat locals on the back.
Your history entwined with each Henry and Edward, James and Elizabeth both: a filigree ancestry.
'Say what's with all the furry hats?'
'They're Beefeaters. It's what they wear'
'Are they like, the Aristocats?
Say, what's with all the furry hats?'
And who's the little woman?' 'That's
The Queen.' 'Are we in England?' 'Yeah'
'Say what's with all the furry hats?'
'They're Beefeaters, it's what they wear'
© Gail Foster 4th June 2019
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