Today, my love, you are forty, and if I may be so bold
to presume that you might thinking now of getting old,
it’s a rite of life that birthdays give us pause
and make us note the changes that they cause.
We are a little worn, perhaps, a little tireder in the knees.
And even though this is the kind of day you tease
those to whom it happens, it happens soon enough
to all of us, however innocent we be or tough.
I do not tease you, wife of mine, because with joy I see
that every year that passes by, you pass by with me.

Age is more than creaking joints or wrinkled skin;
the brain adds wrinkles, too, as life is stored within,
and all the years add up to total memories stored away
of good times built up hour by hour, and day by day.
Do not let the decades cause you fear or sorrow.
Were you not yesterday the same girl as tomorrow?
That which makes you precious ever more to me
is not just your outer beauty that all of us can see
but the spirit of the college girl that caught my eye
in a southern part of heaven long autumn days gone by.

That grace, strength, love, and tenderness inside
is why I felt so fortunate to have you as my bride.
And whatever pains of age you feel, and I feel too,
cannot ache away that inner spirit I know as you.
If wine is better when it ages, and so is cheese,
then let the birthdays come more quickly, please!
Experience has a flavor all its own, take my advice:
Consider every passing year another bit of spice.
But count on one thing that will never alter.
My love for you will never dim or falter.