Hidden like the vaults of the Vatican.

Silent as the Sphinx.

Quietly relentless like the River Nile.

Watchful like Liberty on her plinth.

Crisp white shirts like the Taj Mahal.

Ties that dangled, like the Gardens of Babylon.

Brown polished shoes like the dunes in the Sahara.

A laugh like the sweep of Sydney Harbour.

Eyes twinkling over newspapers, like the Northern Lights. Shoulders, once broad like the Grand Canyon in  all its might.

The scent of bourbon, the splash of shaving, as strong and warm as the Amazon Basin.

Solid like the Eiffel Tower. A fortress that sheltered like the Great Wall of China. He was like Big Ben, a fine, lad.

A fine wise lad, with not a bone that was bad, was Rantu's

Dad.