The worst thing about unbirthdays, is trying to find a gift.
Something you'd like, something not small, perhaps with a bit of thrift.
I 'spose I could have sent a platypi team, roaming o'er the lands,
Or perhaps merely a few hippopatami, all singing and holding hands.

But then maybe you'd like a penguin, or a piece of marmalade on bread
Then I knew, that knowing you, who knows what goes through your head?
So I settled on a teacup. (A teacup?) A teacup, but I broke it right in
two.
And so I guess a teacup (teacup?), broken teacup, simply will not do.

So I sewed you a nice pretty gown, all done up in silver thread!
But when I tried to pick it up, I'd sown it to me instead.
And so I thought, "This will not do! Oh what a great disaster!
I suppose he'll remember this tragedy from here unto hereafter!"

And then I'll admit that I lost hope! I didn't know what to do.
Recalling what a marvelous thing it was to have friends like you,
I set my chin and went to work writing a bit of a song.
And now that it's done, I'm afraid to say, it too has come out wrong.

Hmph.

Penned by my hand on the 13th of Midsummer, in the year 120 MA.