For fifteen years this sun-parched man,
a pensioner of eighty-one,
had celebrated passing weeks
in the old Pub, down by the park.
...
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Oh my gosh, Herbert...this is marvelous...what I would give to spend just one day with that horse...the stories we both could trade...the stories we both could lie about...this is precious...you do have the gift, my friend... Just me, Lare
Thanks, Lare, it is a true story. We humans are something, if not storytellers. H