Poem

Not long before she died, Carolyn and I co-wrote a poem about the four month difference in our ages. She wrote the first three stanzas, and I wrote the fourth stanza. It's a cute poem, and appropriate to be published here.

The Raving

by Carolyn Farkas

How distinctly I remember, I’m no senior till December,
When each candle’s dying ember casts its wax upon the cake.
Let us go a little later, to some movie or theater.
Since your age is now the greater, at the ticket booth I’ll take
One senior ticket for your sake.

Then, although the price is higher, one more ticket I desire.
I am just an adult buyer. I’ve no discount I can take.
Although on a cane I’m leaning, my arteries and bowels need cleaning,
“Adult” has a more cheerful meaning. The thought I’m twenty she might make.
Ok, I know that dream is fake.

This thought of twenty still beguiling my wrinkled face into smiling,
But, with the years upon me piling, what if there is some mistake?
What if she ignores the geezer, and my order doesn’t please her.
I am not as old as Caesar. Come on, you, give me a break.
Sixty-four flames on my last cake.

by Henry Farkas

Those four months each year remember, you’re the flame and I’m the ember
Just because your parents, dear, made slower love than mine did score.
An accident of our birth order made me August, you December.
So in fall it’s easier your youth, my age, to both remember
But four months is just the difference in our ages, evermore.