A Birthday Poem

A birthday boy of seventy-one,
I sing my praise for everyone
Who loves their life as I,
And to us all I raise a toast
And sing this Cyranoic boast,
That will all fates defy:
Our love of life is number one,
It will not be a setting sun;
We shall not sink, or bend or fly,
Or give obedience, till we die.
We will not shrink from evil fire;
We’ll raise our stature even higher;
The soul and mind of who we are
No thoughtless men can ever mar.
We are the diesels of the true
And we will keep on pushing through.

There’s voices pained on every side,
With whining songs that have no pride,
But we hear marches going strong
And waltzes swinging joy along.
There’s shouting with its franticness—
It can’t destroy our happiness;
There’s strife, hatred, cowards’ fear,
But they in us do not appear.
True confidence of mind and soul
Keeps leading us to our great goal,
And we the diesels push on through
With everything that’s proud and true.
We’re on the track, an uphill climb;
Now, push for life, and love sublime!

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