Here I am dear friend,
the poet most extraordinaire,
having to say that you
are a wonderful friend - quite rare.
This poem comes to wish you
a birthday in a million.
I hope you got something really nice,
and a kiss from hubby, William.
How old are you now?
I've gone past the big 4-0.
I'm now hanging on the reigns of age
and shouting loudly WOE!
I'm getting wrinkles every day
and, if off to a function,
I now need tons of make-up,
to re-surface spaghetti junction!
But I know you'll help me dear,
if my hair becomes real thin
and my teeth all drop out,
and I loose my cheeky grin.
Because you, my dear, seem ageless
and you've always got a smile,
and as you're another year older
I know you'll approach it with style.
Anyway, must go,
don't get too much of a taste
for that chocolate and coffee cake.
It'll go straight round your waist!
I've not learnt much from you,
I'm not lovely, like a queen.
I'm just a knackered, wrinkled,
tired out, ol' has been.
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