Today is day one of his 83rd year.
They cry, "Happy Birthday," but Gramps doesn't hear.
They hand him a card all his relatives sign'd.
Its greetings fall flat, though; he's legally blind.
No birthday cake's offer'd; he's watching his weight.
Some candle-topp'd broccoli's serv'd on a plate.
When ask'd for his key to life, what does he say...?
"I'll somehow contrive to survive through today."
Tomorrow's day two of his 83rd year...
(to be continued; a work in progress)
