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For A Carpenters Son.

Rating: 4.4

He had made a thousand, thousand
This one is just the same
Nothing special, nothing grand
Same skill, same tools, same aim
By chisel, plane and saw
The nails, don’t forget the nails
It was a job, nothing more
A craft that kept him fed
No time for thinking of its use
No time to worry his head

He received the token price
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COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Jerry Hughes 10 October 2005

Adrian, this is a staggeringly good poem on a much written about subject. Please, would you do me the favour by reading mine titled, Holocaust AD. I think we're on the same wavelenght. Cheers, Jerry

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