A Poem For Dad on His Birthday

Whether you say you’re fifty-seven,
Or forty-six eleven,
It doesn’t matter much.
We love you just the same,
If you’re wild or you’re tame,
And if you use a cane or crutch.

You’re surely an old codger now,
And I often ask you how,
Your hair got white and gray.
You’ve got knees that’re old and weak,
A grouchy old mean streak,
And you’re a bit too weak to play.

But like I said, we love you,
I swear that it is true,
No matter what the others say.
I just tell my friends you’re young,
And still a lot of fun...
(I hope he’ll live through May).

~By Kimberly
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