To prove she’s getting older,
father used to wake her
every birthday morning
and gently spank her bottom,
once for each new year.

Pristine as a creampuff
that glows with a newer than new
simonized shine.,
she still looks brand new.

Raised in a wigwam
high on a mountain under
the North Star, she continues
to exude the sweet scent
of Balsam pine.

She lives on a homegrown
garden supply, drinking water
like a nymph from a flowing stream.

She’s like a porcelain Princess
in a glass enclosed Christmas present,
too lovely to unwrap and mar the bow
and multicolored ream of curled ribbons.

Her birthdays come and go
but leave no wear and tear,
no imprint year to year.

Frozen in time, she’s unraveled
the mystery
of the dark energy of the cosmos.

She’s cracked the DNA
code of longevity,
that allows her
to light up the darkness,
like a white flower in moonlight.