I wanted send to thee a sonnet of Shakespeare,
But just to copy somebody does not permit my pride,
So once again thou’ll listen to my lire,
And I will put that mere Shakespeare aside.

In this warm, beautiful September day,
When sky is bright and sun is shining strong,
We’ll celebrate thy thirty first birthday,
And wish thy life be happy, merry, long.

I’d like myself bring to thee fleurs-de-lys,
How pity is long distance between us,
And “Happy Birthday” wish to thee,
And cheer thee with a crystal glass.

But why to write when everything the same,
And not to me brings warm and light thy flame.

September, 2002