Birthday
The relative position of the Earth to Father Sun
Revives that old tradition that a birthday has begun
Or maybe it has passed, or coming ‘round again
“My, this year was fast!” And it seems not to depend
On a vacancy of recall, a memory corrupt—
That vagary that we call time is speeding up!
More happened last year than any year before
So snapping into fast gear this one has in store
Ecstasy and suffering, pain and love and loss
And evermore recovering: Same color, different gloss
So I wish you all the best, and with that close this
rant
For as for all the rest, why, that’s not mine to grant