JOAN HUNTER DUNN REVISITED

[With apologies to Mr. John Betjeman]

Miss Joan Hunter Dunn, Miss Joan Hunter Dunn,
How jolly the day when your hand I had won!
How glorious you shone in the Aldershot sun,
And how I adored you, Miss Joan Hunter Dunn!

But thirty years on, you resemble a whale,
With your figure grown fat and your suntan grown pale.
Your hair grown so brassy, your voice grown so shrill:
Former Joan Hunter Dunn, you have run fast - downhill.

The tennis girl's hand that I squeezed in such bliss
Now tosses me bills, saying, briefly, "Pay this!"
The nose, once tip-tilted, now rears in command,
Yet my ring, deep embedded, still gleams on your hand.

So I live on my memories, still shining, still glorious,
The while I ignore you (which makes you quite furious!)
And I don't listen now, quondam Joan Hunter Dunn,
To the end of the tale we, so blissful, begun.
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