Today marks the half-century mark for my wife, Becky . . . and since she never reads my blog, I thought I'd share some of my romantic poetry this week, perhaps even some of the weird stuff she's never read. This might entice her to tune in. I'll also give her some of my best thoughts . . . the real deal, the kind of poetry that editors will actually publish.
It's no secret that I don't purchase birthday cards. I write my own. And I wrote this little dingy a few days ago in honor of her day. Happy Birthday, Becky!
At Fifty
I don't know what you've read
About women in bed
Who believe that their moves are still nifty,
But dear, it's no lie,
I'm suprised you're still spry
And can still do the mambo at fifty.
You've still got the whim
And vigor and vim
To get jiggy wid' moves that are shifty,
And Lord knows I'm no pup
And I just can't keep up
With the fire you're still burnin' at fifty.
But one thing I know
That wherever we go
Your zest will be nothing like thrifty,
And I'm thankful, you see,
That an old guy like me
Still gets loved by a woman who's fifty.
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