John I. Blair
And today we find ourselves
In year the thirty-ninth
Since exchanging wedding bands;
Thirty nine, the multiple
Of three, the blessed trinity,
The unluckiest of numbers.
Well the unlucky part is obvious
To tally up: a litany of woes
That age has brought, from hurts
To losses, hair gone, friends gone,
Mobility and choice constrained,
And our sight and hearing dimmed.
But what was not a certainty
Has paid for all the pain
With open hand,
For our descendants now are three:
Besides our son, his wife . . .
And their daughter
Oh so grand!
(c)2006 John I. Blair