Blessed few have a poem of mine for them,
For bless I do them with mine camaraderie.
A cursed blessing it may be, this blessing,
But this blessing, I bless thee.
For today a gift I have not for thee,
For the great ocean of land between,
And so I write this ballad of trumpets,
Happy birthday to thee.
Take this not as courtship, just complacence,
For thine face still reeks like a mutt,
And thine digits form tiny,
And brain even more so.
Happy birthday sarawgi.
YOU ARE READING
Often confusing
PoetrySecond part to a muses musings because wattpad has a story limit. . . I mean an enthralling book of stories
