My birthday
you made me a chocolate cake,
the gathered candles
with each breath would sway.
With excitement,
“happy birthday, ” you’d say.
Milk chocolate
melted onto rich fruit cake –
a work of art,
sculpted and left to cool.
Slice after slice
I was compelled to take.
A hot cup of tea
and a slice to eat,
the table dressed up to the nines
in lace.
Years passing like clouds,
decades like seasons –
an oak tree standing tall
beside a lake.
Clock hands sweep
past the minutes of its face –
a slice of time,
it’s twenty-five to nine.
(A poem from the book 'Mr Blue Sky' by O. Phillips © 2009)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem