The 8o Year Old Paper Boy Poem by Saint Eule

If it were only a story but sad it is true,
Of a miserly man of whom I once knew.
His name was Francie in a big house on a hill he did live,
He sold papers on the street corner for the nickels we'd give.

Now he never bathed cause that would cost money,
His bed was shredded news paper not very funny.

Once a couple kids watched him dig a whole in the yard,
He buried something there and they waited till night;
They thought it was gold or something of great value,
They jumped over the fence and it was to their fright.

They dug with their hands in a hurry for treasure to scoop,
But all they had found in the mound was a large pile of poop.

Now I do not want to seem gritty or gross,
But I think the boys got a deserved dose.
To try and steal a treasure from an old man,
but instead they got what they did not plan.

Well Francie actually sat on the board of the bank,
His money was good enough however he stank.
But it did not matter to him all of the millions he would hoard,
He sat on the corner each morning selling the printed word.

He used to come into the garage where I worked to just talk,
He never paid for coffee instead would just sweep the walk.

He used to go to the church a godly old man,
but he stunk so bad no one would shook his hand.
He had his own pew which they gave him all to himself,
I think they would have kicked him out except for his wealth.

He never held back when it came to the Lord,
He gave a lot more than the rest could afford.
One day they found him frozen on the corner how sad,
all of his money left to the church made the town glad.

I sure hope Saint Peter let the paper boy in,
For he never spent a nickel on tobacco or gin.