I feel a twirl of soul, a summersault of kind,
a giggle true.
I know you will correct each line
I wrought without the perfect chime:
it makes me trust a hand so keen
will wipe out errors not foreseen
in haste by absent mind.
You make me want to err again!
So this now is my wish to you:
May days of sunshine, nights of blue,
swirl you to cosmic rendezvous.
And clustered in colloquium
may angels, mortals and Supreme
gift you with inspiration's hue.
A golden crown now inbetween
the young, the old, and neoprene:
Happy fiftieth year of been, Beloved M, our rhyming Queen!
Honorable mention
Adding your comment:
And: it is a neologism and a myraism. 
