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Happy Birthday to My Brother

A poem for my little brother on the occasion of his birthday.

By John Oliver SmithPublished 2 years ago 1 min read
My little brother's 7th birthday party - that's him, far left in the front row.

Birthdays tend to make us older,

Shortened strides and feeling colder,

Than we felt a day ago.

Birthdays once seemed such special things;

Presents come, parties ring –

“Happy Birthday to YOU!” we sing.

With each birthday comes a memory,

Of birthdays past, never more to be.

When we were the age of twenty-three,

Or thirty-three . . .

How we loved those Birthday Parties.

Older, older, still we got,

And even still, we get older.

And, isn’t it a pity that we’ve wished away some of our years,

So that we could be old enough,

To vote, or drive, or love, or drink.

Because when we are older still, very old –

We may stop to think . . . regretfully!

It’s too bad birthdays couldn’t make us younger,

Climbing trees and swinging under

Broken fences like we used to do,

Playing games and laughing too.

Not a worry in the world,

Living life like boys and girls.

Sadly those days are gone for good.

I’m glad we lived them while we could.

Years once bought but now seem sold.

I guess birthdays tend to make us old.


About the Creator

John Oliver Smith

Baby, son, brother, child, student, collector, farmer, photographer, player, uncle, coach, husband, student, writer, teacher, father, science guy, fan, coach, grandfather, comedian, traveler, chef, story-teller, driver, regular guy!!

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