In many respects we might consider Easter to be the real birthday of Jesus. Starting a new eternal life after death is truly a birth. Easter also happens to be my wife's birthday. I've written her a few poems to celebrate the 49th occasion, but here's one I can actually place on the blog . . . perhaps others can identify with this one.
Waking Up
One day a guy like me wakes up
And finds he's sleeping with a dame
Who still can make his heart rate jump
(But, Lord, he can't recall her name).
She looks familiar, so he asks
If she was with him through the night.
She's looking older, though the masks
She plasters on give him a fright.
And he reminds her of a man
She used to know, and made her leap,
And gave her children, passions, and
Some lovely moments in her sleep.
And by and by, as life goes on,
The man accepts this oddity
And she accepts what's come and gone
And they, in forgetfulness, agree.
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