Lying in my bed
I came upon a plan,
That I’d do a little ditty
For our very, special Anne.
It was my grave mistake
To add another year,
But forgiven with that smile
That shows, she knows I’m not a seer.
A count back of the years
From 2 thousand, four, to ninety one,
Must be around the time
Her parents had some fun.
She’s quick of eye and wit
To your peril, to under- estimate,
And very fast and able
And never, ever late.
Lots of extra socialising
To fill the days so full,
On the phone, for a chat
Her friends in half do pull.
Is it Gemma, or is it Lauren
That makes the phone run hot,
Or could it be a friendly boy
Oh no, I do hope not.
We love you Anne,
And are for keeps
We take lots of pleasure,
In all your feats.
So that’s all I have to say
Except to wish for Anne,
A Happy Birthday! ! ! ! !
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem