The fifth ceremony, Nature.
Poet, hand, quick, quick.
Divino Mozartino did the trick.
Sleeves rolled up, she's everywhere at once,
in the truest sense con spirito.
Brother, come, help give a show.
An overwhelming unseen radiance then
con amore her next phrases flow and launch upon the world
our little love.
Whoosh, he's out, caught in that first chord high.
Hold him high.
And now, Tomikins, Tom, the first sniff.
Ah, babe.
Poet, you and I, godparents, look on all abeam.
Now hand, a whack?
Oh miracle, oh loud!
Go, Tom, and make us proud.
The ceremony's done.
It's sunrise where Tom, glistening wet,
takes in her blessed air.
Sirs, I heard him, such a colt. We
cowered in light, the peacock and I.
They came and went in a great rush.
Never such haste.
Sirs, did you give him luck from me?
A four leaf clover?
Uni, we had no time.
Oh, sirs, it's over.
[APPLAUSE]