Birthday

When the second hand's soft sweep tells me
That the year before has gone and now
I stand grown older: I lie and cry
For the bright white cake with candles I used to see;
And for the children, chattering bubbles in a Babel,
Who would crowd about me with popping toys
Of rainbow and pink paper of crepe that stretched;
And for curls of girls reciting and the jealous-eyed boys
Who brought presents in ribbons of red
And fed themselves with chocolate babies.


Richard Fariña