My little lamb,
If you were a song,
You’d be my jam!

Here you are,
Turning twenty-one AGAIN,
You get better every year,
Yet you’re always a ten.

Yes, you are beautiful,
But you’re also wise,
And you have a brilliant accent,
You could never disguise.

It makes you swear words sound dainty,
It makes your potty mouth sound classy,
It makes anything you say sound intelligent,
But in context, smart-a**y.

You’re the Paul to my Kathy Bates,
In the thriller that is Misery,
You’re my heavens to Betsy,
And my dirty birdie.

Every time you’re around,
You give me a broader perspective,
You always keep moving forward,
Never too retrospective.

It’s funny that with six sisters,
I didn’t realize I needed another,
Until you showed up,
And married my brother.

I’m glad that of everyone out there,
Dean chose you,
Cause you’re friggin’ awesome,
And you’re funny as poo.

I still don’t understand,
How you turned him into a softy,
Especially when it comes to Harry,
I’d have thought your ambitions were too lofty.

Dean is lucky to have you,
In fact our entire family is,
Cause you’re completely wonderful,
And we all think you’re the shiz.

You are incessantly creative,
Always coming up with an interesting story,
With your fictional… I mean truth-telling journaling/reporting,
Entertaining, in all its glory.

You make this world,
A better place to live,
With your authenticity and realness,
And the kindness that you give.

Cheers to another year,
Hopefully your best one yet,
You are loved and treasured,
The greatest Brit I’ve ever met.

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