I’m sure this man Has long outgrown the boy. And yet sometimes The eyes and smile betray The shy and tender Child of prey. Today another thirty something And looking back You well must know Where strife and rife were born. The years like short Autumnal days sweep by And rustic trees Now raped of leaves Our souls imply. Something or maybe thirty something Still to go – who knows? But sometime on some Sunny afternoon Take time to hold that little boy And underneath the falling leaves Go gently wipe the tears away And tell him of the buds of May. Remember in the darkest night The flickering candle casts a light And worries waxed upon the brow May melt and disappear As birthday greetings come to cheer.