If you believe in poetry, wizardry, psychiatry,
Black cats, boot jacks and purple penguin wells,
Listen then to godfathers, tealeaves, rhubarb trees;
Listen then as poetry your future foretells …
A girl like you with the name of Jane
Is certain to walk down many a lane,
Probably in the pouring rain –
But singing with all your might and main.
A girl like you with a name like Lorn
Will grow up cheerful as summer morn.
If sometimes her clothes may seem old or worn
She’ll always be sure to mend ’em when torn.
But some girls given the name of Jane
Regrettably often turn out vain.
So mind that this be not your bane
For skindeep beauty will quickly wane.
You’ll grow up gentle as a fawn
And folk will say “I’m glad she was born”
You’ll ever be looked for, like the dawn
And never will be left forlorn..
This then is your fortune, my pretty maid:
What I’ve left out may be better than I’ve said
Let me know when anything turns out as writ;
In return I’ll send you a threepenny-bit…(decimal)
Rustington. November 1968