Just one of three hundred and sixty-five,
another day, just like any other
except this one marks the end of forty-five.
A day to celebrate my birth,
the fact that I’m breathing
and walking the earth.
To mark the passing of another year
but what it all really means,
to me, is never quite clear.
A day celebrated with cake,
with gifts, and well wishes
that friends and family make.
So today I’ll be another year older,
hopefully slightly wiser,
but definitely so much balder.
I’ll pass it with cake, and maybe a drink,
I’ll spend it with family,
and try not to think,
it’s another day further from birth,
a bit longer in the tooth,
and that much closer to death.
Copyright Mick Morris 2014