A stage of pension, I am -- not passion --
Where hosts appear in dreams that I have died.
Of earth-shaped tears -- red ribbons -- I have cried,
With days of cov'ring your heart was -- "fashion".
Today my life perpediction --
Where ev'ry day its my turn to survive;
I see my Garden -- it is so alive!
Where roses grow in my jubilation --
Today -- I relax -- look after myself --
After days of screaming, bury my fears;
I become in ghetto, AIDS...very -- stiff --
My heritage is stopped -- my side -- no Celts
My legacy is left throughout these years
Today -- it's forestarol forty-fifth.

Good write, happy birthday- this was such an excellent and well written poem speaking well of your life 

I wouldn't let them anyway, have already told them that
. Wonderful write and a great new word~Lovesya~Joan




and blessings, Sandi










5 old applause
