Take 1

The cake is sweet and frosted ’round the edges,
Arms are aloft with glasses poised to toast,
The round of giddy wishers - cheering, grinning -, 
With hands outstretched for candied wedges.

Some wish you health, yet others nimble limbs
To dance a jig or prance about for ages;
Still others, glad of your success forthwith,
Praise you - »the author of the feast« -  with hymns.

Yet as all joyous roars subside, 
And woozy well-wishers into the darkness flee,
A steady flame of friendship still remains 
And is the best hope and the truest guide.

Take 2

Behold the cake, with sugared borders graced,
Round which the crowd in cheerful circle haste;
With lifted glass they consecrate the hour,
And hail the moment with their vocal power.

Some wish thee health, and some a nimble frame,
To sport with time, and mock decrepit shame;
While others, charmed with Fortune’s partial smile,
Extol thy triumphs in a tuneful style.

But when the shouts of mirth are heard no more,
And Bacchus’ vot’ries reel from out the door,
One faithful flame, secure from fortune’s tide,
Shines still—true Friendship, Hope’s unerring guide.

Take 3

Sweet centerpiece, complete with dedication 
And bound with frosted filigree, 
The giddy guests with bubbly libation
Salute your yearly jubilee.

The wish, ne’er absent nor politely slighted,
That fortune may forthwith upon another frown,
No praises of successes past unsung 
Nor prayers for wealth to come are uninvited.

The hopes for health of body – oft reprised –
Are neither left unhoped nor wearily unheard.
And ‘midst the merry murmur for the final want
That of your peace of mind, is shortly ill-advised.

Take 4

Fair table’s pride, with sugared pomp array’d,
And bound in frost of cunning carver’s hand,
The mirthful train with sparkling draughts o’erweigh’d
Proclaim thy natal hour through all the land.

No wish is lacking, none with silence shunn’d,
That Fortune’s fickle brow may frown elsewhere;
No tale of former triumph left unsung,
Nor prayer for golden plenty banish’d there.

The hope of health, so oft renew’d by breath,
Is neither wearied out nor left unspoke;
And midst the merry hum, one counsel yet—
That peace of mind be thine—is rashly broke.

For joy, not sober care, doth crown this night,
And banquets live by laughter, not by plight.

September 27 2025

Bild © AP