I came from the town called Springfield, Mass.,
In 1904, with some flair and pizzazz.

Born on March 2nd, in the morning light,
While Pisces was swimming into full sight.

We don’t know the hour I landed on Earth,
So we guessed the Sun’s rise as the moment of birth.

But trust me, dear friend, even that early guess—
Shows a chart full of rhyme, and a starry address!

So now, if you're ready, come follow me through—
The map of my stars (yes, I rhymed that too).

My Sun is in Pisces, 11 degrees in,
Where dreamers and poets and fish folk begin.

I swam in my mind, in a world full of strange—
Where cats wore tall hats and clocks rearranged.

I saw things sideways, upside-down too,
And wrote little rhymes about Things One and Two.

My world was of wonder, of misfits and mayhem—
But the fishbowl I lived in? That was my gem.

Pisces is magic. Pisces is play.
Pisces says, “Color outside lines all day!”

But not so fast! Here comes the Moon—
In Virgo, precise, with a tidy tune.

She said, “If you rhyme, then rhyme it just right—
Make the syllables match and the commas tight!”

So I counted my beats, and I scanned each line,
Like a poet mechanic with rhythm and spine.

That Virgo Moon gave me order and structure,
And helped every book be a literary sculpture.

Without her, dear reader, I’d never have found
The perfect small words to make rhythm resound.

Now here's a big one—my Mercury sign—
The place where your thoughts begin to align.

Mine’s in Aquarius, 22 true—
And on October 22nd, guess what came through?

My first cartoon was published that day!
(How Mercury-perfect, wouldn't you say?)

Aquarius thinks in electrical sparks—
Inventing new worlds with question-mark marks.

It rules the odd, the genius, the wild—
Mercury-Aquarius birthed my style.

My Venus was weird too—in Aquarius, see?
I loved things that others found odd as can be.

And I loved a wise woman—her name was Helen—
Who said, “Draw for a living! Your work is compelling!”

We married one day—the 29th of November,
And 29 Sagittarius was in my birth ember.

That was my Uranus—zany and wild—
A fated connection from cosmic compiled.

I had Mars at 3 Aries and Jupiter at zero—
The ignition switch to my inner hero.

These two made me bold, gave me punch and pep—
When I drew marching Sneetches who took giant steps.

They helped me begin, they helped me go—
And explode onto pages with “BANG!” and “POW!” and “WHOA!”

But Saturn was there too, in Aquarius tight,
Making sure my weirdness still rhymed just right.

He said, “Go ahead, be wacky and loose—
But make sure each line has a grammar caboose.”

He gave me the will to repeat and revise—
So each tongue-twister lands like a sweet surprise.

Uranus at 29 Sagittarius degrees—
Now that’s the one that made me say “Wheee!”

The traveler, the joker, the strange revelation—
He whispered, “Go write! And skip education!”

(So I quit Oxford, much to their chagrin—
To draw silly beasts with spaghetti-skin.)

Neptune in Cancer—a heart soft as stew—
Wove my emotions in warm green-blue.
He gave me the feels, the empathy flood—
To write for the small, misunderstood.

He said, “Teach through stories. Don’t preach or groan—
Give the kid with no friends a tale of their own.”

And there in my chart—Pluto in Gemini—
Words were my weapon, my wand, and my why.

I twisted and turned them, made new kinds of sound—
Invented whole languages spun round and round.

Pluto said, “Change them! Make language fun!”
And so I did, from book one to one hundred and one.

You’ve read all the way! Now wasn’t that grand?
The stars in my sky helped guide my hand.

From Springfield to Oxford, to fame far and wide—
With stars in my pen and a fish at my side.

So if your chart’s quirky or riddled with rhyme,
Don’t fret, my dear reader—it might be your time!

To write or to draw, or to dance through the night,
With Uranian giggles and Piscean light.

“Think left and think right and think low and think high.
Oh, the stars you can write if you just give it a try.”

– Dr. Seuss (from the sky)