40 (to a fellow English Major)

This is a poem of a birthday past
For one who is now 40 years of age
From someone who has turned that yellow page.
The story goes its own way pretty fast
And shouldn't dwell on something that is cast
On every mortal and at every stage,
But here is what I know, take it as sage
Advice or tired words: what's past is past,

And years are years but every day is new
And every chapter keeps the story going
And every page is worth the reading through
And turning to the next. We may be growing
Older, but our stories for the ages,
If told well, will be more than middle pages.

Happy Birthday, Sister!