Your not dead yet
Your old, so im told
Really, truly, as good as it gets.
Your skin is wrinkled
Your style is a mess
But honey I heard you compete with the best
Oh mother dear
You're the third of eight.
Poets exualt you,
And philosophers postulate.
So on this day,
We make such a fuss
To us you gave life
A reason for lust
So thank you dear mother,
Here's to this year.
A billion more hurdles,
And a trillion more fears
You keep on kicking,
And going strong
Because without you dear mother
I simply...really... truly... can't go on
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