Dear LPG, 

There is nothing that I like more than the feelings that inspire me to write the poems that come to my pen, and while many are positive, it would not be real if I ignored the others.  Many are derived from personal experience, and others from the things and situations I see around me.   

While I wish that every reader, even those men who don’t think that they are supposed to worry about such things, has a very happy one whichever day of the year yours falls on, I doubt very much that anyone works their way through over 70 birthdays without having at least one that leaves them feeling a little like the one described in my poem today.  

NO FLOWERS

No flowers for my Birthday,
Not a word was said.
No flowers for my Birthday,
Or cups of tea in bed;
No ‘Happy Birthday’ messages,
No hugs or greetings cards.
No one to say ‘Best Wishes’,
Or soft convincing words.

No guests to fill my table,
And not one gift in sight.
This is so unbearable,
Alone on such a night;
No prayers or thanksgiving,
No Priest with wine and bread;
No one to give their blessings,
Or to anoint my head.

No tickets for the cinema,
The opera, theatre or club;
No one to snap my picture,
Oh!  I am so fed up.
No father, mother, sister,
Or brother by my side;
No friend or next-door neighbour,
To make me blush with pride!

No flowers for my table,
No kisses for my cheeks.
No pampering... how terrible,
No love, no birthday treats.
No wine to make me merry,
No happy notes of cheer;
That’s why I’m so unhappy,
At this time of year.

©2005 by Beverly Gooden Wilson