Happy Birthday, Tara! ! ! ! 2008 Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

You are not, what folks would ever call a weed,
you blossomed well inside the attic of my mind,
have been there, seemingly and large as life, indeed,
a spark of beauty and of goodness, what a find!

I was, just to be different, really set to send to you
a weed of many colours and of fragrant hues,
but then, a little birdie whispered, giving me a clue
one cannot pick a stinging nettle, hence I choose

a red and purple scrumptious rose, picked in the night,
I kissed its petals just to send my love along,
and in the morning, when the sun sends out its timid light
there is a troubadour outside who sings for you his song.