A poem by Beverly Stock.
I’ve too many candles to count,
Don't ask me to state the amount.
It’s not just a cake, it’s a blaze,
Resembles a melting wax maze.
With roses and iced with my name,
Now covered in wax and in flames.
My husband’s idea of course.
Do I sense a bit of remorse?
He used all the candles,
He thought easily handled.
He’s a bit younger than me,
That’s the point, now you see?
Alas, my birthday was a tip,
A total 61st birthday trip.
And now, he’s stuck with the bill.
For him, cake and candles not a thrill.
He may be cute, younger and tall
But not all that smart, after all.