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To Homer

Standing laid back in blissful ignorance,

We have watched season upon season,

Three-fingered, no meaningful circumstance

Impulsive and careless, without reason.

Blessed with spouse, tress’d midnight blue

With gravel’d voice and ersatz pearls,

Has made thee home beyond your due

For mischievous boy and affable girls.

Not wrinkle nor a crease have aged,

Though many nights at Moe’s for ale,

Come thirty years of stock life staged;

Would think by now your antics stale.

But there be yet adventures mined,

A laden feast of many parts,

Be never sated, each week we dine

On meaty dish of soul and heart!

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