In the garden of years, where time softly sways, Francis turns 38, adorned by birthday rays. If loving you, my dear, were a crime to unveil, I'd gladly wear the chains, I'd happily go to jail. O Lydia, my darling, beneath the moon's embrace, Each moment with you is a timeless, sacred space. For love’s gentle whisper, through years sweetly drawn, Is my heart’s true anthem, in life's eternal dawn.