After a few hours of thinking, I decided to give him something that very few people have--a poem dedication. I framed it and we all signed it (wife, kids, grandkids). Then after a delicious dinner, we gave it to him along with a bottle of whiskey (because we're Irish-Americans, and that's what we do). I think he really enjoyed it, if the chuckles and the little bit of water gathering in the corners of his eyes were any indication. So, in honor of my Grandfather, the wisest and kindest man I know, I'm sharing his poem with you. Because, then he can say he has a 'published' poem dedicated to him.
***Please excuse the few inside jokes. I'd explain them, but you don't have the proper clearance.***
The
Legend
There lives a great man, steeped in Irish lore
A Philosopher of sorts, and they say
When laughter is heard at the end of Fillmore
It’s his wit, humor, and love on display
He was born in Wisconsin, Oh doncha know
His blood runs blaze orange with pure green and gold
And he walked to school in ten feet of snow
Uphill both ways in the rain, sleet and cold
We all have our faults, and so does he too
Who knew that peas could be burnt to a crisp?
And don’t blame him for the hullabaloo
Of that screwdriver that made him quite pissed
Now of this good fellow, let’s all give a cheer
Because without him, we would not be here
