I turn the handle to wind-up the old gramophone,
and point the horn into this present.
I place the 78. on the carousel,
and gently lower the needle to its groove.
A faded female voice sings of heart-break.
A small orchestra leads an easy dance
on a floor well-worn by shoes and high heels…
She looks into my eyes and smiles
as I take her in my arms across some sixty years
which come and go in two minutes and ten seconds.