For the Twenty-Seventh Birthday of My Niece, Katie

[tannhaeuser]

Though birthday wishes are quite delicious
If they’re sung by a Fred or Ginge,
A voice like mine at your birthday binge
Would make you cringe and unhinge.
Though Leonard Maltin might find some fault in
This verse if it formed the score,
A Katie Movie would still be groovy:
It’d Oscar; and Emmy; and even more,
For…

You’re the top! You’re a Swiss confection.
You’re the top! You’re Tim Scott’s election.
You’re the conscience strict of Pope Benedict Sixteen.
You’re a steak that’s Kobe;
You’re Ben Kenobi;
You’re Halloween!
You’re the best! You’re the Tower of London.
You’re Thor’s chest when his shirt is undone.
I’m a Pollack fake painted with a rake or mop;
But still, Katie, Happy Birthday - you’re the top!

You’re the top! You’re the kindness random.
You’re the top! You’re Joss Whedon’s fandom.
You’re Chevalier on a spree in gay Paris!
You’re Hiccup’s dragons; you’re Bilbo Baggins;
You’re Gravity!
You’re the end; you’re Prince Edward’s ruby;
You’re the friendship of Shag and Scooby.
I’m a Dead White Male - a pathetic pail of slop;
But still, Katie, Happy Birthday - you’re the top!

You’re the top! You’re Rome Eternal.
You’re the top! You’re Dipper’s journal.
You’re the nimble minx Dr. Venkman thinks to catch.
You’re a pint of Guinness; you’re Twilight’s Finis;
You’re Cumberbatch!
You’re The One; you’re Vergilius Maro;
You’re the pun Oscar Wilde will borrow.
I’m a crashing bore, like that one warped door you prop;
But still, Katie, Happy Birthday - you’re the top!

You’re the top! You’re the Emerald City.
You’re the top! You’re a Porter ditty.
You’re the Valkyries when the stormy breezes swell;
You’re Berúthiel’s mousers; you’re Wooster’s trousers;
You’re Ariel!
You’re serene; you’re Chris Lee in German;
You’re a scene not filmed by Baz Luhrmann.
I’m a worn-out pup; who’s closing up the shop.
But still, Katie, Happy Birthday - you’re the top!