Dear Robin, Doctor Robin, what joy to wish you Happy Birthday
You are young, of course, for your age
Youthful, energetic, attractive
Wise, fun-loving, a good sport
Not a bad way to make eighty
It is easy for us to forget what you do – still do
The life you lead, your mission
Not easy for you to remain wholesome, compassionate
When all around is sickness
Of the body and of the mind
You have stayed a human being
To your credit more human than most
Over time you have claimed and re-claimed your sanity
Not walked away as might have been expected
A hard life has made you softer
Dear Robin, Doctor Robin, what joy to wish you Happy Birthday
You are young, of course, for your age
Witty, elegant, debonair
A showman, joke-loving, sexy
Not a bad way to make eighty
Yet, beneath that light touch there is
Courage, loyalty, devotion
Who of us would still answer the early a.m. call?
Another murder, another trial
A life of contrasts, contradictions
What you have learned we shall never know
What you know we won’t learn
What you have is an unexpected gift
Our good fortune, our privilege
Luck, call it what you will, I doubt we deserve you.
Dear Robin, Doctor Robin, what joy to wish you Happy Birthday
You are young, of course, for your age
You love and are loved
Not a bad way to make eighty
If only you could write us a prescription.