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Grandpa Pencil's
Little Rhymes

Red Bricks
and Roses

He lives in a place made of
Red bricks and roses,
They built by the side
Of a clear, stony brook.

Each morning he sits
And he thinks and he dozes,
And reads the worn pages
Of his favourite book.

Sipping the nectar
Of Burgundy vineyards,
Dreaming of journeys
That he never took.


Robin A. Cartledge

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