Happy Birthday, Barbara!
No wonder she doesn't recall
by Herbert Nehrlich
if the day was in Spring or in Fall.
In her head there are words
and a million wild birds
nothing else can be found there at all.
And I say those were truly the days
when the house that's been bought by the gays
was a home that was near
a most friendly and dear
threesome known as our neighbours anglaise.
Happy Birthday to Barbara, yes!
May Ye Gods not demand you confess
that you're seventy-nine
though like good vintage wine
you have wrinkles, well, nevertheless.
It is true that we miss you at times
as we also miss lemons and limes.
It would please us the most
if we could be your host
for your visit. I'll write you more rhymes.
You tell Phil that his bench is still here.
Not to fret or to worry or fear
he can place his thin ass
on the end and the mass
will propel him to land on his ear.
From the land of the jolly old Yanks
where she reigns in the top of the ranks.
We shall strongly insist
to have HER on the list
when you land on old Bribie's sandbanks.
So the deal is we must make a date.
Even though there may BE a long wait.
As with family friends
you can never dispense
with the bonds that the Aussies call Mate.
So to end the prescription for you,
you must follow and finally do
what I tell you just once
(and you know us mean Huns)
eat the cake and the whipping cream too!