Three little birds sitting in a tree
Twittering cheep cheep it is January three
Glory to God can it be
You lived to eighty-three.
And on this day Sis turned eighty
Now all siblings line up in a row
Eighty, eighty-one, eighty-three
And oldest eighty-four.
God in his wisdom let us live
To ripe old age and more than most
Not that we should brag or boast
But be happy still alive.
Who we are comes from the genes
What we look like and how smart
Comes as a package right at the start
As we live and then pass from the scene.
~Jane Ward Smith
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