HERE'S TO YOU DORTHY

She works her tail off, at the Scottish Rite.
Thinking some days, the job really bites.
Every day, putting up with old codgers.
That's not to even, mention old Roger.
Can't eat chicken, at the dinners no more.
Not since Jeff the beef man, graced the door.
But she hangs in there, day after day.
After all, that's just her way.
Happy Birthday Dorthy.
By request of Norman Stubbs
Written by Russett Stubbs
© Aug 4th 2008

Please Critique This Poem