Life has its season and its time
Untouched by words of prose or rhyme
When skies seem sullen and forlorn
The will-o’-the-wisp of summer’s gone.
Here, I raise my glass–to you a toast
May happiness be your constant boast!
And though, alas, we all grow old
May all your joys be manifold.
That through those years, that follow on
You’ll wonder where all doubts have gone.
With all-good wishes couched in rhyme
-Enjoy this very special time…