The first September week was barely past
When he was born. The way the seasons change
Is catching, so perhaps it is not strange
That his first tongue and nation weren’t his last.
But though a tree may shed its autumn leaves
And be reclad in spring, the trunk remains.
And so it is with Serge, who still retains
The core of whom he loves, what he believes.
Beneath the puns, behind the clever prose,
Between the lines of sly pastiche, I see
The way he cares for this community
And value all the warmth his manner shows.
So happy birthday, Serge, although I’m late
(I knew the month, but just mislaid the date!)<\/p>\n
A belated birthday sonnet for my friend Serge, originally posted on Making Light<\/a>.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" The first September week was barely pastWhen he was born. The way the seasons changeIs catching, so perhaps it is not strangeThat his first tongue and nation weren’t his last.But though a tree may shed its autumn leavesAnd be reclad in spring, the trunk remains.And so it is with Serge, who still retainsThe core of … Continue reading Serge’s Birthday Poem<\/span>