Past the dawns of ninety-one, Mom's laughter greets the rising sun. In life's rich tapestry, she finds delight, Wearing a blonde wig, she dances in the light. Her years, a quilt of wisdom sewn, Her playful heart has brightly grown. With every twirl, the golden strands, Remind us that joy still expands. Age is but a gentle guide, In wigs of fun, she takes her stride. Here's to Mom, so bold and bright, A timeless spark in the vast starry night.