Snow White ringlets crown the day,  
like Grandma’s did, a looping grace  
that time, in kindness, chose to echo  
on your brow, in Loughborough’s embrace.

This morning, water held your joy,  
aquarobics in rhythmic bloom,  
then steam curled round your quiet breath,  
a spa of softness, warmth, and room.

Now Tina’s table waits with cake,  
and laughter steeped in sisterhood.  
We gather not just for the years,  
but for the way you make them good.

You wear your seventy-three like silk,  
with wit and wisdom finely spun.  
A birthday not of counting time,  
but dancing in the Loughborough sun.

So here’s to Mo, with curls aglow,  
whose spirit swims, whose kindness stays.  
You are the ringlet in our thread,  
the gentle loop that holds our days.