A Birthday Doggerel to Myself
November 11, 2019
When I woke up today, I was seventy-five—
And a little surprised that I still am alive!
For young Billy the Kid didn’t live all that long—
Nor did Poe whose great gift was to turn words to song.
Nor did Shelley—not Mary nor Percy Byshhe, too—
And Lord Byron departed—his years were too few.
And the Bard didn't make it to my age--a shame.
(Though I have to admit he surpassed me in fame!)
And then poor Stephen Crane—he just vanished so soon.
(If his life were a year, he lived only till June.)
And some others—but I won’t proceed with this list—
For my eyes are developing some kind of a mist.
So instead I will thank you—my friends far and near—
And perhaps I will celebrate yet one more year!