a little limerick for my father, on the occasion of his 110th birthday

There lives now a lass with brain cancer.
She looks in and without for an answer:
Sight, touch, feeling, and sound;
Cloud, tree, flower, and ground;
she must be some new geomancer.

Her laddie continues to fancy her,
hold her hand, cut her pills, and romance her.
They walk side by side;
they’re on the long ride.
He’s mastered just how to entrance her.

You might notice with just one glance at her
that the horse inside is a prancer.
Radiant gleam in her eye;
She may live. She may die.
Either way, the heart’s mirth is the answer.

Many souls are afflicted with cancer:
the weirdest of all life enhancers.
If we rearrange our attitudes
and fill up with gratitude,
we could twirl and delight as soul dancers.

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