Happy birthday, dearest Bren,
You’d be 21 today.
You’d hate this poem, but that’s tough luck,
‘Cos it’s the Houghton way.

We miss your laughs and cheeky tricks
And all the jokes we shared.
We miss all of the banter
And the meals that you prepared.

We also miss those silly spats
And all the rolled eyes too.
But what we miss most of all
Is the person that was you.