Happy Birthday Lorelei
Poets have exhausted the cliches
In praise of women that they hold most dear.
So when I speak of you how can I raise
Those same old phrases that have grown so drear.
And yet how can I not give vent to words
Describing she who fills my life with joy,
At risk of sounding trite, or else absurd
Despite the greatest efforts I employ.
For in a choice twixt ego and of love
There never is a contest that I find.
Cause pleasing she whom I am speaking of
Is the greatest pleasure to my mind.
My Lady, Happy Birthday, from my heart.
Loving you is now my greatest art.
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