Something New

I’ve written of the happy times, I’ve written of the sad. I’m looking through my memories For something that is bad. Perhaps I should tell my great age, But that would be contrary To vow I made not to reveal it, Even in my obituary. I must try to think of something That would give me claim to fame. That I can’t recall a single thing Should give me cause for shame. I’ve walked the straight and narrow In the middle of the highway, And thus missed all of the pitfalls That were hidden on the byway. I did hit Ripley’s column, at Urevealed time of my birth. (Ripley gathered strange facts From the far ends of the Earth). I arrived the seventh member Of my family you see. As Seventh granddaughter of each grandma I was deemed a rarity. It was Sunday, seventh day of the week, When I uttered my first cry, And the seventh day of the month, The year’s seventh month, July. Mamma cut that column out And kept it in the Bible’s pages. She and Daddy often called me Their little “Marvel of the Ages”.