A special poem I wrote, after I’d taken my Lady to hospital for the last time, on the day of her last birthday. Happy Birthday Carole, and I wonder if you still wonder that I wonder.
Under The Snow.
We emanate to a birthday.
We deflate to a final day.
Birthdays, they all come, they all go.
Birthdays, in the sunshine, under the snow.
Birthdays, slow to mature, quickly an aeon.
Birthdays, before we are born, after we are gone.
Birthdays, hanging on by a breath.
Birthdays, nailed to a cross ’til death.
What’s it all mean to be alive and cry.
What’s it all mean to live and to die.
Ivor Steven. (c) 2018
Meet Donna, the gorgeous waitress who seems to know my drinking 🍻 habits already, and she makes sure that my fluid intake is maintained for this warm weather. 
Ivor meets Diana and her friends, and more poems are recited. Below some words from Leonard Cohen’s poem “All My News” from his book “Book Of Longing” 3. “Do not decode These cries of mine They are the road and not the sign Nor deconstruct my drugless high I’m sober but I like to fly Then quickened with my open talk You need not pick the ancient lock” His words seemed wonderfully appropriate as my holiday continues to blossom. 😊
My 6.30am walk around the deck. Breathing the purity of the sea air. I’m completely in awe of mother nature’s vast blue carpet and sparkling white caps, and an endless horizon that encircles our voyage. Ivor being Ivor, I’ve met and chatted to lots of happy fellow passengers, and I’ve been reciting my poems to any willing to listen to my words. “there’s Ivor our Poet friend”.
Ivor.Plumber/Poet 