You said no heart has imagined,
but you gave a few hints
of a massive mansion, a river
and a fruit tree with 12 varieties,
spouting monthly.

You said we couldn't imagine
what you've got prepared,
but I can't imagine anything beats
a Coronation Chicken sandwich,
with Branston,
on a warm summer's afternoon
with friends and laughter
and Monty's head
resting hopefully on my knee.

You called it paradise
and you mentioned wine.
If that comes with a new body -
one that doesn't protest
to a fine Merlot
then that'll be fine with me.
That would be paradise.
That'll be heaven indeed.
So long as you don't forget
the Coronation Chicken
and the pickle.