"Milestone Weekend"

There’s a person named Anna

She’s a girl, not a boy

Her Dad’s from Trana

Her Mom’s from Illinois.


Her b.f. is Colby

Her kitty cat’s Tiki

We had a bird who flew away

That the girl had named Cheeky.


She was born in Santa Monica

One state lower from Oregin

She has a friend named Veronica

But her best friend is More-gin.


She’s the arbiter of style

She’s the Queen of all Crafts

She bakes chocolate pecan pie

And she always makes me laugh.


She recently told me –

And you could have hit me with a truck –

“‘Twenty-seven’ is the year

When you life starts to suck.”


I am sure she’ll perk up

Though she’s temporarily downhearted.

She may think the fun’s over

But she’s just getting started.


She may still be searching

But it’s beyond all disputing

That wherever Fate takes her

Her old Dad will be rooting.


The Twentieth of March

Is the day of her birth

Our wedding anniversary’s

On March the Twenty-firth.


Two momentous occasions

With not a single day’s break

Leaves us toasting our marriage

With leftover birthday cake.


I can’t say much about her

Because of her profession

She’s a psychologist, you see,

And it’ll mess up the session.


Just one small exception

Which I hope she’ll forget

I just can’t help relating

This most telling vignette.


I drove home one evening

And it wasn’t a mirage

She took my bachelor-bought art

And hung it in the garage.


A perfect example

Of compassionate palery

She didn’t throw it all out

She made a great garage gallery.


Two wonderful women

Who bedazzle my life

One is my daughter

The other’s my wife.

(There's a third woman, Rachel,

Who ranks equally high

But her birthday is not

Till the eleventh of July.)


The birthday’s twenty-seven

The anniversary’s twenty-eight

It’s the first day of spring

It all adds up to “Great!”


Happy birthday-anniversary weekend.

I love you forever.