Eighty for my Dad
Eighty years and way more than eighty cheers:
That is Ernest F. Dost,
The Frederick Ernst Dost,
Man of pragmatism:
Fair until it comes out our darned ears.
But still no Cubs' championship, damn curse,
In how many years you’ve gone?
The Oscars, only got
A whole month on you, but
You always know it could be a lot worse.
What was Ron Reagan doing at your age?
Bet it wasn't ten miles
Bikin' the ol' Salt Creek,
He aimed those MXs,
Could’ve had another fam'ly this stage.
"My grandpa? No, he's just my dad, ov'rall,
Silver-haired daddy of mine."
Doesn't need a wheelchair.
So, eine prosit, Vater,
And a Gemutlichkeit to us all.
