Happy Birthday (to me)
The sun that shone and opened up that day
reminds me of cold fate’s futurity.
I see her many suns have had their sway
as now my skin sags low at eighty-three.
My birthday card now comes from stranger’s hands
as those who loved me flown some suns before
as day revolves to night and time’s demands
now seek to make my candles eighty-four.
Still, happiness is active flickering:
the sun that peeps through blinds in early morn
and all the bright lights on my cake I proudly sing
before the murky dark of eighty-five is born.
Oh, happy to survive this human fate
than travel through strange world’s to darker gate.