As they got back to the car at Burnham Beeches
(And Ted, head down, scribbled: feverish, unaware,
Musing on those first furry post war peaches –
Editors at Faber said his work was better,
Just wait till they discovered this birthday letter!)
She saw a rainbow coming colours everywhere
Illuminating the bluebell clad clearing
Spanning the spectrum in a prism soft and bright
While Ted walked tall her sapphire eyes saw a small
Gossamer envelope tucked in the quarterlight
And, as if that was not enough to enthrall,
It contained a fortune cookie left by a sprite
Predicting copyright wars that came with the fame,
Foretelling revolution in Paris in May
And Brian Jones in the wings, next to play death’s damp game
Surely, she thought, that wasn’t all there was to say?
Instinctively distrusting what she was hearing
In that tender Bucks idyl of afternoon light,
In spite of the spring at her step she was fearing
The long return journey back to the starless night
It was only five years later but she was already
Two thousand light years from home
.
Julian Isaacs
Painting Rupert Loydell
.