We came into this world as we leave it,
A lonely soul with only a blank canvas in which to paint its colours on,
A being who begins a stumble which turns to a run, then a jump, a skip, a bounce, a run, a sprint
It is better, however; I find that by stumbling unsteadily through this giant calender which is our lives, we observe more,
You stay for longer in a certain place, and then, with uncertainty we move on to the next thing, all the while becoming the wiser
Fantasia drips throughout our minds, a flurry and a blur of reality, observation, opinion and thoughts-
A flurry of words streamlining this invisible book of ours, the ink, never running out to dry
Even a silent mind has a commentary
So, When it comes to that one day of the year when the bell tolls and the book's pages reveal themselves in snapshots, we realise how far we have stumbled
A what a joy stumbling is indeed
The ink will never dry, so just keep it running,
An illustration of culture fluttering through our minds should bring a dose of colour
So,
For this one day
Which has yet to end
Breathe in the memory of those brithday candles burning
And burn those around you into your mind and remember which pages you share,
Share the smiles and the crinkling of those surprises that await you in their own colourful shades of paper
Delight and rejoice with the ecstasy of memory, whether it is yet to come or not
And remember each second, is passed with a thought
A thought, as such is a suprise waiting to be opened by the revelation from the mind to mouth
Oh, and one more thing-
Don't forget to "Chink" the glasses of champagne held in many hands
Happy Birthday Mish,
Oh- Don't forget to dance