On the Eve of Sixty.
Not with fanfare does a life accrue its gold,
But in the patient layers that its stories hold.
In lines of code that quietly build a world,
In timeless plays, on canvases unfurled.
A gentleman walks not with boast or show,
But with a depth of thought that others know.
A blog, his steady intellectual light,
An archive against the ever-fleeing night.
So, for this month, I’ll trace with careful pen
The landscape of your life:
Not just the peaks, but all the subtle shade.
Shaped by love, by history, by art so thoughtfully made.
Upon six decades lived in your unique ways,
We start not at the end, but in the sweet
Ongoing middle where past and present meet.
For sixty years are but a prologue told,
The next grand act is yours to still unfold.
Today, we raise the curtain on your year,
And say, with love: How glad we are you’re here.
