For Holly

Observe the fanciful pheasant contemplate
Under sky (but for that cloud I promised) pristine;
Alas, this Christmas-birthday thing gets to you late,
Though I swore it'd get there while, at least, you're still eighteen.
But lo, upon the broad back of the hapless tortoise,
The pheasant contemplates his latest gambit
While his reptilian ride tries sadly to exhort his
Rider to pursue this some place else, dammit.
"Chess?" you ask me? "Chess!" I answer!
Though I grant it wasn't specified; Oh well.
Your instructions made no sense, and this is fancier
And what the heck else do you do on a turtle's shell?

Excuse the pentameterless mass of sonnety folly
I wrote to say: Happy Birthday Holly!

Love,
Noel