It’s almost my birthday.
Happy Birthday to me.
Well, at my advancing age,
it’s more bah humbug.
Sixty-two is a blah event.
It’s not like I’m sixty.
It’s not like I’m sixty-five.
I’m socially secure!
I’m old enough to get the joke.
(Thank you, Daffy.)
I woke up this morning.
Blind Faith was playing in my head.
That was a good start.
I may be old, but I’m still not dead.
I couldn’t remember the rest of the song.
Just one line stuck, because the singing’s sublime.
I hadn’t had coffee, but also, I’m old.
“When I’m near the end and I just ain’t got the time”
It’s “Can’t Find My Way Home”.
Thank you, Steve Winwood.
(Thank you Wikipedia for reminding me.)
It’s melancholy but it’s so good.
The only problem with the song
Is the stuck line that he penned.
There are better ways to start a birthday
Than by repeating “near the end.”
This is the last day of the Big 6-0.
A year that sucked from head to toe.
I broke my ankle and my foot.
Then COVID made us all stay put.
I left the house to see the surgeon.
Otherwise home, a vestal virgin.
The most excitement we had seen?
The line to get our new vaccine.
The year couldn’t have been much worse,
But at least I avoided riding in a hearse.
Rocky arrived here
Eight years ago today.
He was limping pretty badly,
But still wanted to play.
He was hit by a car.
His back legs were broken apart.
A lady dumped him at our vet.
It was a rocky start.
(He’s actually named Rocky,
Because he was a Chihuahua
That took on a Cadillac.
We were going to foster him,
Until he found his perfect home.
He never made it off the couch,
He wouldn’t leave us alone.
He’s been with us eight long years,
He thinks he runs the house.
He’s killed a couple of snakes so far,
And one quite bloody mouse.
So, here’s to Rocky FosterPup.
He’s our favorite little shrimp.
He’s running all around the yard
Because he never learned to limp.