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Posted

He's Andrew. He's Smithy. Goes by names more alarming,

our dear lovely Lisa often calls him prince charming.

He packs our cigars, but oh, much more than that,

though one of them's cowboy, he wears many hats.

Wine connoisseur, cigar expert as well,

can name a cigar solely by smell.

A palate like his can't be trained in a day

gets plenty of practice when Rob is away.

He grew a moustache, for good cause I might mention,

though some seem to think 'twas for cross street attention.

So the boys from the bathhouse all stand at attention,

while Smithy on the deck oh so masterfully baits them.

He's travelled the world, has a Papuan bride,

she's still trying to find him, so Smithy does hide.

When all's said and done, he calls Queensland home,

drinks, smokes, and parties, and never alone.

We've still never met, though we may in the end,

he goes by many names, I'll just call him friend.

So thanks again Smithy, you are without peer,

have a floggin' great Christmas, and a merry New Year!

Posted

So the boys from the bathhouse all stand at attention,

while Smithy on the deck oh so masterfully baits them.

Nice poem. And I share your sentiments. But...

could you do something a bit different with these lines?

  • 1 year later...
Posted

Second best man in this operation :lol2:

Thanks fo the laughs Smithy...and as a companion in all those bottles of red on the rocking chairs.

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