Happy Birthday, Tara! ! ! ! 2008

You are not, what folks would ever call a weed, you blossomed well inside the attic of my mind, have been there, seemingly and large as life, indeed, a spark of beauty and of goodness, what a find! I was, just to be different, really set to send to you a weed of many colours and of fragrant hues, but then, a little birdie whispered, giving me a clue one cannot pick a stinging nettle, hence I choose a red and purple scrumptious rose, picked in the night, I kissed its petals just to send my love along, and in the morning, when the sun sends out its timid light there is a troubadour outside who sings for you his song.