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"Many,
many years ago,
Or was it just last week?"
(Granddad started out this way,
When he began to speak.)
Telling
of the many things
That happened in the past,
He'd fill our heads with memories,
And hoped that they would last.
He always
rode a bicycle,
He never drove a car,
But he would travel anywhere,
That wasn't very far.
He had
the whitest, thickest hair,
That you have ever seen,
And he was such a gentle man,
I'd never seen him mean.
And every
week on Sunday morn,
He'd ride with us to church,
He loved the Lord with all his heart,
His Name he'd not besmirch.
And when
he testified in church,
He'd give it in a song,
He'd sing about the love of God,
I knew his faith was strong.
In some
ways I am just like him,
In this I do not lie,
For we were both quite musical,
We also loved our pie.
Now
Granddad's gone to Heaven, and
In that there's no dispute,
And when he died he left me with
His hymnbook and his flute.
by David Ronald Bruce Pekrul
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