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Gramps
June 1, 2010
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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