A Gathering For Wogan Poem by Paul Reed

'How shall I praise him? Let me count the ways.
I think he was the tops, the cat's miaow;
For pity's sake, who else would you allow
To mutter in your ear each dawn of days
Just rambling on, with nothing on his mind?

That voice - (an aural newly-ripened peach
That never spoke to all, but spoke to each,
Each one he never met, but made his friend)
Now sounds forevermore, world without end.' - Joanna Lumley from 'For The Former Greatest Lving Irishman'

Ah, Wogan, I see you've had your day
Where all gathered to sing you away
And although I was moved to hear the tributes tossed
I was sad that in the melee mine was lost;

My sincere words will never be read
But in my heart they still are said
For I am no star, a no-one am I
But I held you higher than the sky