Too broke to buy my sentiments I’m left
with only words and say, “Happy birthday.”
I’ve been with you now for 36 of your birthdays
and we both are to an age where candles have lost
that novelty that brings a child delight. We are so
old that that short birthday song seems long, long,
long. Still, saying “happy birthday” doesn’t seem to
say enough. The words so absolutely fail to convey
the privilege I feel being in the same room and breathing
the same air that you breath, that the heat of both our
bodies mingle and protect us from a cold world as we
rest under the sheet and blankets of our bed, or that
the sharing of time and place with you is the blessing
of my life, or that where we sit to watch TV is known,
appropriately and perfectly as the Love Seat.
with only words and say, “Happy birthday.”
I’ve been with you now for 36 of your birthdays
and we both are to an age where candles have lost
that novelty that brings a child delight. We are so
old that that short birthday song seems long, long,
long. Still, saying “happy birthday” doesn’t seem to
say enough. The words so absolutely fail to convey
the privilege I feel being in the same room and breathing
the same air that you breath, that the heat of both our
bodies mingle and protect us from a cold world as we
rest under the sheet and blankets of our bed, or that
the sharing of time and place with you is the blessing
of my life, or that where we sit to watch TV is known,
appropriately and perfectly as the Love Seat.
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