"Uncle Celery, Uncle Celery, is chopping all those veggies,”
my impish nieces and nephew who copycat my voice,
and other hand gestures or mannerisms known to me and others,
how they used to ape that voice of mine with their American twang,
“Celery, do you love us for real, will you be our teacher when we’re grown,”
I, Howard, replied that it would be a delightful honour,
“Celery, are you having a fun time with us at all,”
I answered; “every day is a fun day when we’re together,”
one relative blushed: “never  mind the mushy stuff, never mind the mush,
It’s not so you’re never, ever going to meet us again.”

The mother of my relatives cautioned me on the subject of promises,
they’ll be taken literally with no concession despite your intentions,
strident loud knock on room door allocated to me quite amusing,
“I heard , Uncle Celery, you say your door was always ajar?”
"You are most welcome to enter this room I’m resting in," I said 
The facial expression of mine comic yet cordial,
“Howard, do you tell all your friends how overjoyed you are to be with us?”
Once again I replied in an instant ; “Each available chance your priceless charm is praised by me,”
I’d say those friends would laugh uproariously,
“Privileges of childhood, privileges of childhood."