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Buying the Farm

A toast to three friends at a party celebrating their fortieth birthdays.

Forty came and forty went
A blink, and half our lives were spent
We never thought of what it meant
When mortgage took the place of rent

We’d no more borrow, we would own
Trade house of straw for house of stone
We’d make a stand and cease to roam
We’d claim a house and make it home

Foundations lent a sense of worth
But shadows dimmed our middled mirth
We had been tending here since birth
A slab of stone, a plot of earth

But I love you, and you, and you
So raise a glass, and then raise two
At forty years, we learn what’s true
We always were just passing through

Cheers!

Comments

  1. Angelico Nguyen, Esq., OP says:

    Whenever the waning sun doth gloam,
    The sober glimpse that the grave’s their home.
    So screw that cork, and suck that juice:
    In pace, requiescamus!

  2. Is it possible to hold two wine glasses in the hand like that?

  3. Or is it grape juice?

  4. Jonathan Potter says:

    Splendid versifying, old man. It warms my middlaged cockles.

  5. I feel like you live in a cooler version of reality than I do.

  6. You know, when you run out of hands, you can also steady a wine glass between your toes.

    Do I gather from this poem that a “happy birthday” is in order to you? If so, I’ll pour one in your honor. And if not, I’ll pour one in your honor.

    • No, it was for three friends who all turned 40 this year. But pouring one is definitely appropriate. As for the toes claim, pics or it didn’t happen.

  7. Cubeland Mystic says:

    I’d like to see that photo on the jacket cover of your next book.

  8. Churchill says:

    The last time I remember meeting up with friends was for my fortieth birthday. I think there were about thirteen of us in all. I introduced an older colleague from work and my sister told me later she hadn’t want to sit next to him. Now he’s the only friend of those I have left and I notice, sometimes, that people don’t want to sit next to me.

  9. Churchill says:

    No, of course, another one’s still a friend.

  10. Then raise three!

    Damn, that is one fine poem.

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