37
by @TheRavensWrittingDesk
On a cold clear night, a dream
A dream of thirty-seven
Thirty-seven thin figures stand
Upon a smooth white plain
That glistens like purest sand
There bodies completely still
Yet long auburn hair dances
Lightly back and forth
As if under water
Though these delicate figures wear all white
What they harbor remains unknown
Are they angels, bearing gifts of love and life......
Twelve months they whisper
First once then twice
.....Or malevolent beings
Bringing forth illness and tragedy
Twelve months they whisper
Now ceaselessly
Awake, oh bright beautiful morning
Sun shining through the still drawn shades
Downstairs loved ones waiting
To celebrate this speacial day
Upon the kitchen table
A pure white cake
Thirty-seven candles all aflame
Loved ones gather round
To sing aloud
Happy, happy birthday