TOO MANY CANDLES

Birthdays come and birthdays go--
There are too many in a row--
And, by the time you're seventy-six,
It seems that birthdays are a mix
Of simple joys and problems, too,
That in our youth we seldom knew,
For things go wrong and things go bad
With parts we never knew we had,
When something snaps and systems fail
As we head down that long, long trail.

And so, at birthday time this year,
I'm not surprised I'm out of gear.
Fate sent a whammy--not from heaven--
To this old gal at seventy-seven.
It knocked me for a loop or two;

But, though I'm reeling, I'm not through.
I cant complain for, what the heck,
I didn't fall and break my neck.
But shingles smart and shingles ache--
I would have settled for a cake.


Helen J. Ewoldsen -- 7-18-98