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Monday, December 10, 2012

A father

I would raise a glass to the carpenter
of whom so little is said
the story was told all about him
whilst men spoke of horns on his head

He taught the saw and the hammer
pulled splinters, healed cuts with his spit
Was it he who taught you a living
who taught you to heal with the mud?

Yesterday's message got me thinking...
 It doesn't quite manage a form but I find myself fascinated by the thought.

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