Birthday Blues

A post to prove a point to the Black Mamba - BM dear, there are things that are worse than that aarti you were talking about yesterday.

Start all the clocks, connect the telephone
Get the dog to bite with a juicy bone
Play the pianos and with clear drum
Bring out the cake, let the friends come

Let aeroplanes circle buzzing overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message he is very much alive
Put red bows round the white necks of the public doves
Let the traffic policemen wear white leather gloves

He is my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I am right

The stars are still wanted; assemble another one
Get a new moon and a brighter sun,
Let more water into the ocean and plant more trees
For everything now will only come to good.

(With apologies, ofcourse, to W H Auden and all those who have read him)