Now We Are Very Old

If poetry be the food of love, read on’ as some particularly famous playwright bloke once said or maybe he didn’t. It might have been that he said, ‘if music be the food of love, play on’. Frankly, be that as it may, this composer of little rhyming ditties thinks poems are rather fun and many of them are, in any case, about things he loves. Thus, it works either way.

This little volume of twenty-four poetic offerings on various themes (plus one totally free extra ditty in the introduction, please note) rather proves the point even if the author most un-humbly does say it himself.

Read out loud with rhythm in your voice. Set them to music of your own choosing and sing them if you like. However you prefer to take your poems, please enjoy them for what they are: a bit of simple fun.

Rupert William Beadell Bacon spent his formative years in Sussex and has a love of windmills, boats and Jesus (not necessarily in that order). He now lives on Bodmin Moor in Cornwall where boats and Jesus are still available for his enjoyment. Rupert has been writing stories for as long as he can remember. In his youth it annoyed his teachers to no end as they had to correct the spelling of almost every other word; later on in life, his employers took against the use of ‘flowery literary language’ in highly technical civil engineering reports. Now it is his long-suffering wife who has to proofread everything to excise such errors and oddities. He lives a reclusive life somewhere in Cornwall where conditions are ideal for curling-up with a pad of scrap paper and a pen to write yet more yarns.

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