19 DECEMBER 1992, Page 62

The Family Friend

Each year, those eyes Ablaze with temperance And love for all of us Above the rim, she Held it out, her glass's Fluted blossom, pinch-me-tightly Plucking at its stem Although she'd never normally But just this once Because of Christmas, planting it Beside my father's plate.

And he, that cloudy frown Of mock-reproof So solemnly disguising Mischief's kindliness, would Raise the bottle high, a patriarchal Grand parabola to shower Celestial liquor, then Dip suddenly depositing A little drop, permissible And blessed by silence As it passed her lips.

John Mole