It is not such a feat
To say you have been born;
Nor is it worth much scorn
To say that it is neat
That you became complete
On some now-distant morn
Still sluglike and forlorn
With only milk to eat.
But it is something to
Be able now to say
That it was on this day
(24 years ago)
That you were entered so
And, luckily, were you.
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