Gramps

This is a poem to gramps.
Whose Christmas tree lights are shotgun shells and the star an orange huntin’ hat
Who can spend all day on his property without ever getting bored


Who has more broken lawnmowers than could ever be fixed



Who made a walk-in safe for his shotguns




Who spends his mornings cuttin’ wood





Who is always there for me when I need him.
Here’s to you gramps.





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