Tchaikovsky's Fourth.

They telecast Tchaikovsky's Fourth last night,
That masterpiece of hesitance and fright.
I watched a beauty playing a bassoon.
How cheerfully she sat and blew her tune!
What thoughts were  those that passed across her face,
What feelings caused that air of languid grace,
What promptings raised the tempo of her heart
And took her to a place a space apart
Where circumstances gathered to dictate
The self must cede its destiny to fate?

An appreciation

Be with me now at this my eventide,
Which dips towards that time when none can hide.
How brief a while to be contemporary
There is! Then treasure in your memory
A single dear remembrance of our past
Which, lodged securely there, will ever last.

Delight in imperfection

The less than perfect is my true ideal -
To aim beyond that disregards the real
From which derive the harvests that we reap,
The only bounty we may hope to keep.

Then I shall celebrate the partial whole
Which I am proffered by a kindred soul
Whose generosity brings me delight,
Whose absence would engulf  my own in fright.

Birthday thoughts

This Birthday is a special one -
You're Daddy now - enjoy the fun!
Your days will have a different cast,
Some will be tiring, some a blast.
And through it all, as Liv grows big
And starts to sing and dance a jig,
Her presence in your saving arms
Will fill your life with cheering charms.

As ever present

 The years may pass, yet you are in my heart,
 As ever once you were, companion dear
 Who with a tender smile would cause to start
 A mood to lift the spirit and make clear
 How with your presence life was made complete,
 Days turned to years with happiness replete.
 For warmth we wrap ourselves against the cold -
 Against death's thieving grasp there is no fold.