The Seven Ages of Bruce

Sir Bruce Forsyth died last month. 

By way of a tribute to his career, and by way of a conceit based on William Shakespeare's "All the World's A Stage" in "As You Like It", here is my poem about his career which I'd forgotten about until this week.

The original speech it is based on is here:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/All_the_world%27s_a_stage

The Seven Ages of Bruce

All the world's a stage,
And Sir Bruce Forsyth was one of many players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first, infant Brucie,
Tapping his feet against the cot in rhythm
Then the “Mighty Atom” schoolboy, with his song
And dance, and accordion, creeping like snail
Slowly into show business. And then the troubadour
Summer seasons, pantomime, with a cheerful ballad
And as bright as Buttons. Then an airman,
Called up to National Service, flight of fancy
Entertaining the troops, sudden and quick in repartee
Seeking the bubble reputation
In the London Palladium. And then the compere,
In fair sleek suits, and didn’t he do well
With eyes twinkling, and sparkling wit
Full of wise saws and generation games;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and witty dancing show host,
With nimble feet, and lady assistant on side;
A sunset flowering, quickly dancing, a hit world wide
For his last years, and his welcoming voice,
Turning again in quick step, gives a show
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is fading into limelight, and mere oblivion,
Nice to have seen him, now sans everything.

Farewell, Brucie!