Your soul is ere weakened in sole isolation,
And less resolution within your seclusion;
Around you with so many people hives,
Always smiling with sharpened knives
To sever your selfmade spirit-bonds,
On this birthday; you’re forty-five!
And God his chariot rides in high-sky
Of tranquil blue where happy angels fly;
You too can skip and dance, sing to prance
In complete freedom from mock-aged trance!
Picture/photo of Geras, ancient Greek god of the old (or much aging, long life), son of Erebus, primordial god of thick darkness, black night, the shadow(s)