The Golden Yoke
On this, our fiftieth, we find
We’re Siamese twins conjoined by years
To share all things of heart and mind —
Like blessings, curses, smiles and jeers.
We’ve tried divergent ways and crashed
Like tangled marionettes who glare
Across tough cords that can’t be slashed
To make of one a sullen pair.
And when the surgeons urge division,
Assuring both the job’s best done,
We’re filled at once with consternation
And promptly dial 911.