The threat of some hail kept her home, <br />where she stood, in a trance, with her comb. <br />When the hail didn't come <br />she sat down on her bum, <br />had a dream about flying to Rome. <br /> <br />But the tank on his ultralight plane <br />held, if counted along with the main <br />fifteen cupfuls or less, <br />that would last, let me guess, <br />barely down to the township of Cane. <br /> <br />Not to worry, though. Home at the HUB <br />they can lounge in their bubble-filled tub. <br />Then, while sipping champagne <br />fly their own aeroplane. <br />And there's always that Rub-A-Dub-Dub. <br /> <br />Happy birthday and thirty-eight more. <br />At that age, though you might be a bore. <br />Have a bottle or nine <br />while your liver's still fine <br />so the fumes come through every pore.<br /><br />Herbert Nehrlich<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/happy-birthday-linda-r-rated/
