I haven't written much about my rock, my strong foundation
that's only 'cos he'd curse me to all hell, perhaps damnation
and chuck a down-here-under male's embarrassed hissy fit
if he was made aware that I've writ even this small bit

so please don't go and tell him I'm confessing here my love
for him, the second, gifted me to be my right hand glove
when number one departed and all order went amiss
and pain would not allow relief with band-aid or with kiss

we're given, if we notice, a reward for soul's sour lessons
that, if we're extra lucky, comes in form of younger sons
devoted, always giving, mine is precious to a fault
and, even as a toddler, seemed to think as an adult

it's more that he's looked after me, than I've looked after him
(especially the few odd times I've had a nip of gin)
and I wonder if fore-knowledge made his thoughts of coming black -
arriving in reverse, with bum out first and looking back

(as if he was reluctant, too aware of future tears)
and wore his trousers back to front, throughout his first five years
so others will believe that he is coming when but going 
was my own mother's fun remark... so many memories flowing

there in my mind's-eye pocket-book, all filed neat under family
the soft perfume of baby blue, all bathed and cuddly-cutie
with blonde hair shining in the sun, and eyes reflecting summer sky
I watched him grow, and he watched me, on him I could rely

the baby, tot, the toddler, youth, and now a full grown man
I tell it here for all to see, I am his greatest fan
out in the day a million stars are out-shone by our sun
here, in my heart, the sun's a star, compared to love I have for John
.