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Papa's Hat (Barry Sons - Berwick, LA)


                        It’s frayed and bent
                        Body oils stain it’s down.
                        The felt is drying and fragile now;
                        Its ribbons run amok.
                                   

                        Its dove gray velvet skin is gone
                        As it sits alone on the stand,
                        A lonely tribute stares at me
                        To that sturdy little man.           
                                   

                        He wore it proudly, his gray felt hat
                        That dressed his casual clothes.
                        Khakis or blues, a light plaid shirt,
                        This hat with anything goes.
                                   

                        The smile beneath from ear to ear;
                        A warm hand for his friends.
                        The man who wore this hat
                        Would he be my dearest friend?
                                   

                        I longed for that nearly all my life.
                        The man who wore the dove gray hat
                        Is the man who sired me.
                        I miss him so as I gaze at it
                        On the pole alone. My Papas’
                        Hat will dry a rot and I’ll
                        Really be left alone.
                        His memory will be all I have
                        His hat will soon be gone.

                        My Papa’s hat will dry and rot
                        And I’ll really be left alone.
                        His memory will be all I have
                        His hat will soon be gone.
                        What really hurt is that I’ll never fit
                        In that little man’s hat at all.
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