I Was Born…
 
On the fourth of September as the sun’s final ember
     Of gold bade goodbye to the sky,
In the land of umbrellas, black cabs, cockney fellas, 
     Big Ben and the Thames and The Eye.
In a quaint house in Kent, birthdays came and they went
     In the kingdom of hedgerows and hops,
Cricket pavilions, delphiniums, sweet williams,
     And crumpets with tea in twee shops.
 
 Now I party in Texas where hurricanes hex us
     And summer days simmer yearlong,
On the wild sprawling plains where it’s rare that it rains
     And mockingbirds retweet their song. 
I am raising a toast in the hot solar roast  
     As the hummingbirds gleam in the glare
Of candles a-flaring as bluegrass is blaring 
     And swallowtails coast in mid-air. 
 
On the fourth of September I’ll always remember
     My birthdays long-gone as I make 
New memories to hold in my heart with the old 
     To savor with Earl Grey and cake.
Today I will drift in my heaven-sent gift – 
     That Stonehenge-and-Alamo mix 
Of Lone-Star largesse and bone-china finesse – 
     My English-rose-rodeo fix. 


Susan Jarvis Bryant
 
If you have any thoughts on this poem, Susan Jarvis Bryant would be pleased to hear them.