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Old Francie The Rhymer

Old Francie the rhymer will never be a poet
Nor is he one worthy of literary note
But true to his calling he writes rhymes every day
We are what we are as the wise one does say

The hair on his balding head is silver gray
Old Francie the rhymer with rhyming words likes to play
Amongst the known rhymers not one to the fore
He writes rhymes for the love of it little else more

From the home of the badger the rook and brown trout
Old Francie the rhymer has found his way south
And though where he now lives he is one from elsewhere
He has not seen much of the big World out there

His numbers of rhymes through the Seasons have grown
By Frank or by Francis he also is known
Any of his rhymes may not outlive his own mortality
Since a rhymer at best is the best he can be

Old Francie the rhymer his physical best days long gone
But true to his calling in life he rhymes on
He adds to his numbers of rhymes every day
He is just one with rhyming words who does like to play.

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