A birthday poem is my writing goal for this day,
But, alas, there is no way
I can find words under Heaven
That rhyme with birthday sixty-seven.
Certainly there is no sixty-eleven
Although I have a friend whose name is Bevan
And I know people who won't eat leaven.
So I'll forget the rhyming and say with glee
I thank my Lord for giving to me
Four years past birthday sixty-three
And the best I can say about being sixty-seven,
Well, that makes me one year closer to Heaven.
Splashes of Serenity on my 67th birthday!