Someone born today
Back in 1936
Would be 81
All three multiples of three
Within its digits*
March is the third month
27 is three cubed
(3 x 3 x 3)
I need hardly say
3 x 3 x 3 x 3
Who had been born on that date
Would build trimarans
And, had they been drawn
To athletics, what’s the sport
They’d most likely tri?
Silly number games
Just a way to celebrate
My daddy’s birthday
*One of only twelve
Years since Anno Domini
In which that was true
The last one, of course,
Came 3-cubed years after that:
If you’re in a rush
Please feel free to cut me off!
I’ll feel free to brake.
Tonight we’re opening our show!
Fourth week and fourth night in a row
For sixteen openings in all
And one last drapeless curtain call
One more chance to share the light
One last night to get it right
I admire people who can paint,
Who aren’t embarrassed when they’re asked to draw.
The Muse of Visual Arts showed true restraint
When gracing me: I earn less awe than, “Aww.”
Likewise the vocal arts, whose patroness
Gave me the skill to hear and recognize
My less-than-perfect pitch, though I confess
I sing despite the sadness in her eyes.
The Literary Muse took pity, though,
And–probably when all the rest had gone–
On me a love of writing did bestow
And charged me thusly: Try to pass it on.
Words are all I have to give away,
So, no, I won’t be shutting up today.
Knowing what I know
Makes me wish I didn’t know
What I know I know
Snakes and ladders
In games for children
It’s just wrong
Winter’s behind us, at long, frigid last!
The flowers are lagging, but catching up fast.
Grab your complaint trunk and bundle ’em all in:
Too cold, wet and dark–but pull out too much pollen.