Way up high at forty-two
is Winnetka’s latitude.
West is land, but east can’t reach,
lest we flit cross sea and beach.
There’s sands of time, hourglass,
all know naught on this Earth lasts.
Gather rosebuds while we may
as we celebrate birthday.
While days are long, years are short,
so in play let us cavort.
Cavort and romp as grains fall
and through play hope to enthrall.
Enthrall, capture and entice
Dionysian delight.
“The play’s the thing,” said the Bard
hope birthday’s sweet; here’s my card.