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Today is a day that is special to us –
A day in which praise will be sung
To honor the birthday of Sue Sampson Trott,
Who’s seventy-five and still young.

What is the secret she’s known all these years
That keeps her life happy and new?
Is it the golf and the tennis she plays,
The sports that she so loves to do?

Or is it just trying to catch all her kids?
Her family, it grows and it grows.
With five kids, twelve grandkids, and three that are great
She spends lots of time on her toes!

Or – this could be it – is it helping out Dad
That keeps up the spring in her feet?
For Dad’s independent and needs not her help
Except to get dressed and to eat.

Our Dad has got, shall we say, "dubious" taste
When it comes to picking out clothes,
And he’d look quite different without Mom to say,
"Oh, Richard dear, you can’t wear those."

But eating’s a thing that our dad can do well.
Yes, he has that action down good.
The problem he has is that, try though he might,
He just can’t prepare his own food.

But it doesn’t matter, for he has got Mom
To cook and to bake and to stir.
He gladly appreciates all that she does,
And gives the respect she deserves,

Except for that time when we drove in the car
And out through the door Mom did fly.
Dad stared at he as she lay out in the road
And uttered his classic reply,

Which wasn’t "How are you? Will you be all right?
Are you feeling any great pain?"
Dad just shook his head as she lay in the road
And said, "You get up from there, Sue!."

Yet still, they’ve been married for fifty-three years,
And both hold each other quite dear.
Which does make me wonder why, at Mitzi’s bash,
She patted that nice stripper’s rear…..

I guess she felt frisky, as she often does,
Which leads me to wonder anew,
Just what is the secret sustaining Mom’s youth?
What is it that carries her through?

For life’s been no picnic in her span of years.
She’s worked hard each one of her days,
What with the duties that she had at school
And five irksome children to raise.

And she’s been no lightweight or "fair-weather friend".
She puts her whole self on the line
To nurse those she loves through their illness or pain
And help out when things just aren’t fine.

Could that be the reason for her youthful step?
The reason I’ve wanted to know?
Could it be that we will not let her get old
Because we depend on her so?

For we really do, and we’ve not been let down.
Mom’s always done more than her part.
So we’ll take this chance on your birthday to say
We love you with all of our hearts.

And now we will close, for this poem’s been so long,
Mom’s patience we may have worn thin,
And if she grows angry we’re taking a chance
She’ll wing us with her rolling pin!

Relax and enjoy, Mom, this party we’ve thrown
To celebrate your many years,
And know that, though we like to poke fun and tease,
We, all of us, hold you quite dear.

© 1995 Deborah Taylor, David Willis