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Ninety-One Years Old
I gaze upon your high chair made of oak,
with filigreed designs and steps well worn,
that Maggie’s children used. Such thoughts evoke
dear memories of you on this grand morn.
Oh, Mama, your chair—my chair yet remains
a touchstone of your love. Like fine Champagne,
it quickens as I age. Time passes by,
reminding me when things were not awry.
And thus your presence yet remains within
my heart as I now celebrate your birth.
You would be ninety-one. I know you’d spend
your day in happiness with heart-felt mirth.
You’d cook a feast for family and friends
and fill our glasses up with gin again.
You’d laugh and joke and keep us all amused.
There’s no doubt laughter was your greatest muse!
And thus today I place fresh roses by
your side and think of dearest times with you.
I won’t forget your voice; our last goodbye.
So precious were your words, they still ring true.
And thus, I’ll spend the day with joyful glee
with friends and family. Such grand esprit
we’ll share in love on this your special day;
and such is life’s most wonderful bouquet.
6 March 2016
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