The reels we’ve spun can replay for decades to come, still
If we have them, for the lottery winnings pile in daily, you,
Me and this old house, decaying like two old yard cats, long
After the children have sought their own, riches strewn to
The wind of fates, our progeny spinning their own records.
So let us look in the eyes of cheer and sound a resounding
Reidel clink to another year’s pantomime time bound 37th
(Hurry home; the Insignia’s in the cooler heavy-breathing).