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But I love Poetry so here
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is some of my favorites.
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This page is dedicated in loving
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memory to my Mother and Father!
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Felix Lee Bridges and Agnes
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Maude (Golightley) Bridges
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Who made sure I had a education
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and knew the finer things in life.
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My father's and mother's favorite
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flower was Roses so
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Dad and Mom this Rose Page is for you!!
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This poem was written by my daughter about her Boston Terrier for her
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Language Arts Class. I thought I would include it here!
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PUG
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I have a dog named Pug.
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She likes to go out in the mud.
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Then she comes in and rolls on
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the rug and expects a great big
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hug.
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She is black and white and does
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not like to be left alone at night.
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She gets in my bed and covers
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up her head and sleeps all warm
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and cuddly all night.
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When morning arises and she
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gets out of bed she's ready for her
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Kibbles and lays down her head.
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It's nap time, playtime and food
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time again then back she goes
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to bed.
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By Sarah Louthan
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FOREVER
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There's a hole inside of me,
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It appeared some time ago...
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the day my mother passed away.
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Tell me, why'd she have to go?
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I've tried to fill the hole up
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with other family,
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and I want to keep her memory alive,
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so I started her family tree.
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My search has brought me many kin
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who've helped to fill that hole,
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but I realize now, there'll always be an
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emptiness in my soul.
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I guess that's jus the way it is
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with people and their mothers...
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a special bond exists with them
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that can't be matched by others.
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How many times had I heard her say
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"Someday I won't be here..."?
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I thought I'd always have her, though.
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Now all I have is tears.
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I know she's with HER mother now.
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That's not what makes me sad.
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It's that I never asked her about our past,
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now, too late, I want to know sooooo bad.
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So please, God, when you see my mom,
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give her all my love.
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And tell ALL my kin that I'll see them again
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when I join them up above.
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This was written by Pam Carey Durstock
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This next was by Edgar Albert Guest
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(1881-1959)
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YOUR NAME
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Your name you got from your father
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It was all he had to give
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So it's yours to use and cherish
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for as long as you live
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If you lose the watch he gave you
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It can always be replaced
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But a black mark on your name, son,
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Can never be erased.
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It was clean the day you took it
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And a worthy name to bear
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When he got it from his father
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There was no dishonor there.
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So make sure you guard it wisely,
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After all is said and done
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You'll be glad the name is spotless
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When you give it to your son.
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MEMORIAL POEM
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This was encrypted on my
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Grandfather's Memorial Record
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God hath not promised Skies always blue,
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Flower-strewn pathways All our lives through;
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God hath not promised Sun without rain, Joy without
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Sorrow, Peace without Pain. But God hath promised
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Strength for the day, Rest for the labor, Light for the
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way. Grace for the trials, Help from above, Unfailing
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sympathy Undying love...
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Here is somemore poems I have found that I love
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very much some I do not know the authors but they
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have given me much pleasure I hope you enjoy them
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to.
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What can I leave to my children in addition to sunshine
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and laughter? What can I leave my granchildren and
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all my descendants thereafter?
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What will survive the test of time and then a thousand
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years more? What will insure rememberance of me,
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and all my ancestors before?
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My possessions may be owned by few and my estate
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is not vast. What could have ever-lasting ties that
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spans the future and past?
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In genealogy I will dabble and pass on more than just a
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name. Relaying lineage, life styles and stories, adding
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flesh to some links in the chain.
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I will hand down a gift of knowledge of from whom they
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came to be; of their heritage and bloodline, I'll leave
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THE FAMILY TREE.
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But Oh Great-grandpa I sit and ponder, my mind plays
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tricks, it begins to wander. In olden days when you
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were young, what were the games you played, the
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songs you sung?
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I want to know so many things, the dreams, the fun
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and joy that childhood brings. Did you miss those you
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left at home in young manhood when you began to
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roam?
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Of all the things I wish I knew, Dear
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Great-grandpa you left not a clue. Not to know
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makes me sad and forlorn. Just WHEN and
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WHERE were you born?
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So dear Santa, don't bring me new dishes, I don't
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need a new kind of game. Genealogists have
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pe-culier wishes; for Christmas I want a surname.
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A new dish washer would be great, but it's not
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the desire of my life. I've just found an
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ancestor's birth date, what I need now is the
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name of his wife.
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My heart doesn't yearn for a ring that would put
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a real diamond to shame. What I want is a more
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precious thing; please give me Great-Aunt
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Mollie's maiden name.
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To see my heart singing for joy, bring me a
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genealogist's toy; a picture for my history books
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packed away in cases and a surname with dates
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and with places.
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Old Folks are worth a Fortune
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Courtesy of : Old Farmers Almanac
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Remember, old folks are worth a fortune, with silver in
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their hair, gold in their teeth, stones in their kidneys,
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lead in their feet and gas in their stomachs.
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I have become a little older since I saw you last, and
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a few changes have come into my life since then.
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Frankly I have become quite a frivolous old gal. I am
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seeing five gentlemen every day. As soon as I
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wake up, Will Power helps me get out of bed. Then I
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go to see John. Then Charlie Horse come along, and
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when he is here, he takes a lot of my time and
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attention.
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When he leaves, Arthur Ritis shows up and stays the
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rest of the day. He doesn't like to stay in one place
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very long, so he takes me from joint to joint. After
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such a busy day I'm really tired and glad to go to bed
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with Ben Gay. What a life!
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P.S. The preacher came to call the other day. He said
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at my age I should be thinking about the hereafter. I
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told him, "Oh, I do it all the time. No matter where I
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am -in the parlor, upstairs, in the kitchen, or down in
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the basement - I ask myself, Now, what am I here
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after?"
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Kids Who are Different
By Digby Wolfe-1990
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Here's to the kids who are different,
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The kids who who have ears twice the size of their peers,
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and noses that go on for days...
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Here's to kids who are different,
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The kids they call crazy or dumb,
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The kids who don't fit, with the guts and the grit,
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Who dance to a different drum...
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Here's to the kids who are different,
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The kids with the mischievous streak,
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For when they have grown, as history's shown,
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It's their difference that makes them unique.
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Two by two, they loved and labored.
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One by one, when life was done,
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They were gathered to their fathers
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And were buried by their sons.
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Now we seek in musty pages
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Names and dates and dwelling place,
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Looking for a kinship linkage
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With some long forgotten face.
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Hunting Stones in cemeteries
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Overgrown with brush and tree
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Scanning films in public archives
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Reading, searching, endlessly.
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So we scribe with proud precision
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All we've gleaned about our name,
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Keeping for our children's children
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Evidence of whence they came.
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Unknown Author
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THE TREE
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Life wasn't always easy; but she never did complain.
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Though I saw her shed a leaf or two; when cold
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November's came.
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How her arms spread wide and welcomed, any
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weary nesting soul.
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Vast numbers took their comfort there; in spring and
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winter's snow.
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When August sun's beat down on me, I rested 'neath
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her shade,
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And warmed myself in winter with the firewood she gave.
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Played beneath the shelter of her strong and sturdy limbs,
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Swung from her branches happily with all my childhood friends.
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In her bark, I carve initials of those sweethearts long forgot, from
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her branches, hang my medals, hide my secrets in her knots. From
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her seeds, I grew an orchard; in her leaves I made a bed, & when
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thought to give up...her trunk spoke, "forge ahead!" I gaze now
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through her branches, far past where eyes can see, & every bough
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uncovered, tells that much more of ME! & I proudly bear the
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markings of her awesome history, Oh she started but a
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seeding....and became my family tree.
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by vikimouse 1998
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UNDER THE KILT
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A Scotsman clad in a kilt left the bar one evening fair
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And one could tell by how he walked that he'd drunk
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more than his share.
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He fumbled round until he could no longer keep his feet;
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Then stumbled off into the grass to sleep beside the street.
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About that time two young and lovely girls just happend by
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And one said to the other with a twinkle in her eye,
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See yon sleeping Scotsman so stong and handsome built,
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I wonder if it's true what they don't wear beneath their kilt.
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They crept up on that sleeping Scotsman quite as could be,
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And lifted up his kilt about an inch so they could see.
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And behold for them to view beneath his Scottish skirt,
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Was nothing more than God had graced him with upon his birth.
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They marveled for a moment then one said we must be gone.
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Let's leave a present for our friend before we move along.
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As a gift they left a blue silk ribbon tied into a bow
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Around the bonnie star the Scot's kilt did lift and show
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The Scotsman woke to nature's call and stumbled toward the trees.
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Behind a bush he lifts his kilt and gasps at what he sees.
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In a startled voice he says to what's before his eyes,
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Oh, lad, I don't know where you bee, but I see you won first prize!
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Michael J. Irvin
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