She walks into the room
With the kind of ‘va va voom’
Of an eager disco dancer
Not a gal who once had cancer

You know she just turned fifty
Still looking kinda nifty
Still got her sense of humour
Not beaten by no tumour

It was a nasty little focker
Moved in to her right knocker
But the surgeon, well she stopped it
And the knocker, well they lopped it

And soon they’ll cut and paste
A new one from her waist
And her friends dare to believe
That once more they’ll call her cleave

But enough this talk of illness
In this moment of brief stillness
Let us celebrate our Jo Wedd
Let our praises go to her head

Thanks for Lily, Stanley, Miro
And that the chance of more is zero
Cos I really couldn’t take one
And you ain’t got the gear to make one

Thanks for how you tolerate
The way I tend to operate
Cos my mood, I sure do show it
It’s the burden of the poet

Thanks for endless gourmet fayre
Thanks for always being there
Thanks for stylish joie de vie
Thanks for putting up with me

And checking out your word cloud
You should be feeling reet proud
As you see how all adore you
May our words of love restore you.