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received this poem from a fellow Aussie poet and thought that others might
appreciate it as I did.
Well - well
- well you've had a birthday
And now you're getting really old,
You know, I almost missed it
But it's right you should be told.
I've really been too busy
With a few things on my mind,
So I've come to poke some fun
And it's working out just fine.
should I get you ?
Forty one I hear you are,
Nine more years and you'll be fifty,
Some perfume ? - no, some flowers ? - no,
Ah yes, maybe a bra.
Now what colour should it be ?
Really I don't know what to think,
There must be a colour that suits an oldie,
Probably one of the shades of pink.
The next consideration
is one of size,
Now that gravity's taken hold,
The problem I know will get even worse,
Fifty, sixty, seventy - boy you're getting bloody old.
But I digress - back to this problem,
As I don't want to get it wrong,
34 A, B, C, or perhaps D
Maybe just a straight out - 34 long.
But now I'm
And that's really not like me,
It's my wish your birthday found you well,
And if in the looking glass one day you see,
Signs of your backside down 'round your knee,
I hope you remember who reminded you so,
But please don't feel too bad - the floors the limit,
And that's as far as you go!
Copyright; Phillip Morrisson