Each year I write a poem the day before my birthday, this was this year's!
Tomorrow I'll have aged another day -
though it's only combine with the last
three hundred and sixty four
that it is at all special I think
since every day I age some more
and gradually, not all in one chunk--
I won't wake up as somebody new
maturer, and wiser, and quite a lot taller
a person who's very certainly sure
that she's seventeen and not in fact
eleven - but at least I'll get cake
and I'll age one more day
and I'll gradually grow up
but only as slowly as I possibly can.