According to the voice on the radio,
The host of a classical music program no less-
This is the birthday of Vivaldi.
He would be 325 years old today, quite bent over, I would imagine,
And not able to see much through his watery eyes.
Surely, he would be deaf by now,
The clothes flaking off him,
Hair pitiably sparse.
But we would throw a party for him anyway,
A surprise party where everyone
Would hide behind the furniture to listen
For the tap of his cane on the pavement
And the sound of his dry, persistent cough.