Forgottenman said I have to write a birthday poem, so here it is:
I will not curb my inhibitions, and so I will not sail
off on new adventures out beyond the pale.
That powerful compunction to be off on an adventure,
ever after, I declare to have my sincere censure.
Apathy is my new creed. I simply do not care
to meet with any challenges or answer any dare.
I’ll gaze upon my garden and watch its petals fall
and when faced with challenges? Reject them one and all.
I’ve officially retired. I’m taking up TV.
I’ll sit here eating popcorn, a cat upon my knee.
I’ll make up for a lifetime of my lack of viewing
and rail against what all the youngsters of today are doing.
I’m done with being active and current and involved.
I’ve lost my former need for being current and evolved.
Forget that I exist and let me moulder in my den.
I’m both used up and giving up on all that I have been.
Three-quarters of a century’s enough for being me.
Now I will investigate what else there is to be.
I’ll expire before the date that I am due for expiration,
and simply coast along for the rest of my duration.
(Don’t worry. It is meant tongue-in-cheek.)