[basil ransome-davies]

LOOK AT ME

Yes, I've matured, not aged. A soupçon less
Of hair, grey wings, a lived-in crimp or two

Under the steady eyes (still Newman-blue)...

Unless you knew my age, you'd never guess.

Good genes are priceless elixirs; they bless

Like fairy godmothers the lucky few. 

Yes, I've lived as a libertine, it's true;
But facially there's no trace of excess. 

At seventy pure pride, not vanity,

Supports my self-esteem. My mirror-mask,

Tempered by time, yet graven, wrinkle-free,

Adduces all that anyone could ask –

Ravageless unrestraint across the years;

Divine good looks; the envy of my peers.