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Robert Lindner
Just to be safe and sure, I waited till
76 to make sure that I'd still
Be here. And because I am here, I will
Send you 76ers. since most of you
Are now, or will be 76, too,
This year. And so, without too much ado,
Here's Happy Birthdays to me and to you.
Seventy-Six
“Ever just the same, ever a surprise, ever as before
Ever just as sure, as the sun will arise
A tale as old as time, finding you can change. Learning you’re all wrong, rising in the east.
A tale as old as time, sound as old as rhyme.”
Beauty and the Beast (1991) Angela Lansbury
Another year’s gone by,
And I’m thinking of all the years of my
Life. They flash before me,
They’re ancient history,
And my old memory
Keeps losing puzzle pieces, though I try
To find them. Sometimes they
Appear unexpectedly and they may
Or may not fit into
The puzzle. When they do
I place them with the new
Memories that don’t fade, as yesterday
Becomes today. Though some
Of yesterday’s memories may not come
Back. My attention span
Is not the best. I can
Use some tricks to keep an
Important bit of information from
Disappearing into
The ether, as yesterday turns into
Today. As it always
Must. But the music plays
Around with sound from days
Long passed and it helps me remember who
I am and who I was
Once upon a time in spite of the flaws
That age accentuates
As life accelerates
Toward the Pearly Gates
Though it just seems to move faster because
I know about what’s wrong
With me and that tells me that I’m “not long
For this world.” As they say.
But I still go from day
To day, along my way,
That trail I’ve followed, while I sing my song
Of life. The trail I chose
Though fortune gives me the choices of prose
Or poetry and I
Choose poems. And I try
To rhyme. I don’t know why
But I do and then I look for a close
That brings more meaning to
My poem. I search for a clever clue
To solve the maze you may
Want to learn there’s a way.
Out of. Perhaps today.
Who knows what may come for me or you,
Or where we’ll be when we
Reach the close of our human poetry?
A tale that’s passed its prime
“A tale, as old as time,
A sound as old as rhyme,”
As sung once by Angela Lansbury,
Whose last day came, as I
Wrote this seventy-sixth poem for my
Birthday. But my birthday,
When I began my play
Was eleven days away.
And I shall not tempt my fate and luck by
Sending these words before
The day is passed by a few days more.
Better safe than sorry.
My birthday poetry
Can wait until I’ll be
Seventy-six, like trombones marching for
The Music Man’s parade
That marched in the days when the songs we made
Were young and memories
Were made and fantasies
Became realities
In the plays and musicals that we played,
And played in once upon
“A tale as old as time.” Just words, some gone
But not forgotten. We
Say them from memory,
“To be, or not to be?”
As seventy-six trombones will march on,
“As the sun will arise.”
“Ever just the same, ever a surprise,”
With “sound as old as rhyme.”
“A tale as old as time.”
And I can tell you. “I’m
Still here.” Enjoying life, that’s nature’s prize.
Seventy-six is my
Award. As trombones are marching and I
March too. In my parade,
In time to music made,
By life and love and played
Each day, when the sun rises in my sky.
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