The bell chimed clear and high pitched,
It felt as if the night's silence had me ditched.
Who the hell was it to irritate me at midnight,
Opening the door revealed noone at sight.
As I snuggled under the blanket and grumbled,
The bell this time didn't ring but mumbled.
I cursed the ringer and got up,
If I see that person I'll chop him up:
I said and opened the door,
To find a neat little package kept on the floor.
There was a note on the ribbon,
The packet felt soft as hot cross buns.
I opened it to find a cute pink teddy,
It had a blue dress, soft and frilly.
The little note said Happy Birthday,
Just so you don't eat me I'll meet you the next day.
I read the note and the handwriting made me shy,
The note was written and signed by my very own sky.
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Comments about this poem (Birthday by Isabella Francis )
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(24 January 1572 - 31 March 1631)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
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