Happy Birthday, Andreeeeeeas!
Poem By Herbert Nehrlich
There once was a fellow named Gripp.
He let poems roll over his lip.
With the Kraut in his genes
he has more than the means
to write stanzas at fast-moving clip.
On the day of his long ago birth
when he made his debut on this earth
he was talking in mime
but considering rhyme
for the future, those poems of worth.