B.R.- C.L.- M.S.
Look at you now, grown into men,
With jobs, and a nice home;
I seem to recall, time and again,
You first felt, the urge to roam.
Qualities differed, but much alike,
Slightly, all two years apart;
Enjoyed the woods, loved a hike,
All together, we'd take heart.
I never much cared, for growing up,
We played, I; just one of the boys;
Little Dude, when he was a pup,
That shady sand box, full of toys.
A father will question, especially now,
As years, have turned him gray;
By example, I'd hoped to endow,
A gentle kind spirit, to portray.
Looking back, I'd like to know,
Are memories, warm and free?
Raising kids, it's nice to bestow,
Contentment; life's hard to foresee.
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