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Wax melts as the candles dwindle,
Their life is a measure of age, of time,
Time that slips away so quickly,
The more candles the faster it seems to go,
More experience to judge time by,
Happy faces singing off key,
But the sound is still beautiful, harmonious,
This is the sound of presents, not ripping paper,
The sound focuses the mind in a wish,
As the candles get blown out saliva dusts the frosting,
Vanilla slips nicely down the throat cool, light,
Not heavy and tangy like chocolate,
But smooth,
Like the skins on these little faces,
Not yet assaulted by hair,
Oh, prepubescent birthdays,
To be young again is my wish this year.
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