Herbert Nehrlich 2
A Poopcornmaker For Your Birthday - Poem by Herbert Nehrlich 2
I am standing our here by the gate
with a present for Rolfie, my mate.
Happy birthday my boy
you can play with this toy
'till the zero comes after the eight.
As we age all our structures get worn,
and the memory cells may be torn,
but like old Father Rhein
you are good vintage wine
they could tell on the day you were born.
Now the present is plugged in the wall
in the kitchen or out in the hall,
place some seeds in the top
watch them wiggle and hop
you can share or perhaps eat them all.
Now concerning the matter of age,
each new year is another new page,
when the index appears
you are close to arrears
though it's useless to fly in a rage.
I was thinking of bringing a jug
or a café-au-lait in a mug,
then I thought that a toy
would be good for the boy
and Maria can give you a hug.
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