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Hunting With My Grandpa
What An Adventure.
Goring Hunting with my grandpa.
What an adventure.
Before I begin this poem it is important to me, to take a few minutes, and to let the reader know, some events in my early childhood will be included in this poem. I just want to make it clear. I was never a victim. However, I was most definitely a survivor. And I only mean that in jest., But I was never a victim.
My grandparents both. Loved me. Come to think about it. I don’t remember, even 0ne time, they ever disciplined me. They were just two, loving and and caring grandparents.
Below is a poem Of my namesake, Grandpa. Who was both a preacher, and farmer, Located in rural, Northeast Louisiana.
Roll the poem, please:
Growing up with my grandpa.
I was the youngest grandchild.
My Grandfather had.
Going for a summer visit?
Were some of the best times I had.
Mom would put me on the Greyhound.
Behind the driver’s seat.
Mom would ask the driver, would you watch my son?
The driver always answered, it will be my treat.