It seems every year
About this time,
As if by magic,
Dad turns 29.
I don't know how it happens
Since I'm now 32,
But I never ask questions
It would only make him stew.
In truth, he ignores it,
Since there are few things that he hates
More than having birthdays
And being forced to celebrate.
So instead of singing Happy Birthday
'Cause my singing's really bad,
I'll just say I love you
And I'm gald you're my dad.
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7 comments:
This is very cute. Happy birthday, Basil's Llama Dad!
My great grandmother was born in the 19th century, but was still 16 when she died in the late 80's. I really don't know how it happened. But *I* wasn't going to tell her that she was a liar.
Well aren't we quite the little poet?? =)
Dad really, reallly hates birthdays. HATES them. If I lived closer I'd do stuff like sneak in and decorate his shop the night before, but I'd also be disowned by now. Or, you know, dead.
Wish I still had some of the poetry I wrote several years ago for work functions. Man, I was on fire. People got scared when they got random emails from me that just said something like, "What word rhymes with 'goat?'" It was terrible.
Aww...love the poem. What would he do if you took out one of those "lordy, lordy" ads in the paper? LOL
My Dad doesn't even know when his birthday is... :?
I think we have found Dr. Seuss' successor!
Now go hop on Pop.
I just realized this was my 200th post. Nice.
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