Happy Birthday, Barbara!

No wonder she doesn't recall if the day was in Spring or in Fall. In her head there are words and a million wild birds nothing else can be found there at all. And I say those were truly the days when the house that's been bought by the gays was a home that was near a most friendly and dear threesome known as our neighbours anglaise. Happy Birthday to Barbara, yes! May Ye Gods not demand you confess that you're seventy-nine though like good vintage wine you have wrinkles, well, nevertheless. It is true that we miss you at times as we also miss lemons and limes. It would please us the most if we could be your host for your visit. I'll write you more rhymes. You tell Phil that his bench is still here. Not to fret or to worry or fear he can place his thin ass on the end and the mass will propel him to land on his ear. From the land of the jolly old Yanks where she reigns in the top of the ranks. We shall strongly insist to have HER on the list when you land on old Bribie's sandbanks. So the deal is we must make a date. Even though there may BE a long wait. As with family friends you can never dispense with the bonds that the Aussies call Mate. So to end the prescription for you, you must follow and finally do what I tell you just once (and you know us mean Huns) eat the cake and the whipping cream too!