Happy Birthday, darling

My daughter praised her mother for the years
That she had known her and the love
That she had received during that four and twenty years
And it occurred to me that there was no one
In that room who had known her
Longer than me, who can remember
The beginning of this story
When the clock was wound
On the stage at the end of the Dunwoody lunchroom,
Most likely a Monday morning, first period
When a dark eyed fifteen year old girl
Turned and smiled and set the clock,
A smile that I still cherish
As the years continue apace.