Birthday poem
If brevity is the soul of wit
Then life is the grandest of punchlines. . .
All the years add up to a sum
That just isn't very some
They say the time contained in a day
Is infinite in its way
And the days contained in one's time
Are universes sublime
It's mad, still, the reckoning
of tick-tock's dull beckoning
How else can one think it
When stars look like trinket
And the universe is said to have borders
(As if endlessness can somehow have hoarders!)
Well, it's magnificently beautiful absurdity
If that's not too flowerly wordity
This collection of agains and old somedays
You’re invited to gather up at your birthday
And muse over, for whatever it's worthday.
---Charles Bogle