For Morris's 65th birthday, an event coupled with his beautiful daughter's ordination 
as rabbi, I wrote this poem. Sue gave me many biographical details I didn't know, 
so not only was I able to write the poem, which took much effort and time, but I 
got to know my friend better.
s a result.

Everyone really liked this poem. 


Morris Klein at 65


Our Morris is now 65
A dinner we propose
Let's celebrate that he's alive
And roast him till he glows

"Say something nice - it's his birthday"
Sue made me swear to try
But I can't find a thing to say 
Because I never lie.

But wait - We're all put here on Earth
For much too short a stay
I'll find some good he's done since birth.
Muse help me please, Oy Vey!

The truth I will not compromise
But what then can I do 
If I can't lie I'll plagiarize 
From parents and from Sue.

Dave left his life in Hungary
From Poland Ethel fled
They came to Hudson to be free
And this is what they said.

"Oh Morris life for us was cruel
We didn't drive or play
We sent you in our place to shul
To ruin your Saturday."
"We closed the shop and you know why
We felt so proud dear son
You finished first in Hudson High,
First in a class of one."

"We bussed you way up to Cornell
Too far to visit you
We feared your soul had gone to hell
For that's where you met Sue."

"Of course, we criticized at first
We let you know our views
We yelled at you - we fumed, we cursed
Our minds were fixed - we're Jews."

"But when you packed and went out west
We knew Sue was for real.
And when two kids filled up your nest
We loved Sue in the deal."

At work you claimed you did quite well
You served your land with pride
Just what you did no one can tell
Thank God it's classified.

You built your house from ground up and
You also are a plumber
You planted veggies on your land
But weeds took charge each summer.

You served your synagogue for years
As president and more
Your sermons brought your friends to tears
Each was a supreme bore.

Your kids thought that the goals you set.
For them were small in size
One CEO to pay your debt
One tiny Nobel Prize

But then the Soviets unwound
And though the world turned calm
Your deep depression was profound
You had no one to bomb

















And now we hear that you avoid
To drive in light and dark
Because you are quite paranoid
'Bout how you'll pay to park

So in both sunshine and in rain
To library and garden
You sit there calmly on the train
And feel your art'ries harden.

You're closing in upon your end
But that don't mean you're through.  
You're one great father, mate, and friend
And that's why we love you.

Stanley David Gedzelman
04 June 2004