A Rhombus Rumba With All Things Being Equal

One by one, our identity,
Foregoes the next in line.
“Nein”, says German serenity,
“Six teens are next to dine”.

May your twenty fifth anniversary wine,
Be worse that your thirty sixth.
Forty nine’s not some troubled age,
Forthwith, know a sixties myth.

We ate tea one day, imbibing it with
One hundred draughts of ale,
Plus twenty wonderful cakes like pith,
And twenty three racks of quail.

Grossly I stop, so you might dare,
Consider and ponder if we were square.


by Rodney Alan Crater
Copyright ©2006 Rodney Alan Crater