A man sits, stirring his hot coffee,
Among the men that sat there,
The oldest of the workers,
Grey hair, wrinkles around dark eyes,
A face, a reflection of the years gone by,
His hands spoke its own story,
Old and lame,
Each line and mark,
Told his tale of his family and life,
The pains and the pleasures,
A wife and two children,
A beautiful house and an old beat-up truck,
Was all the he had,
But he was glad to have it all,
Everyday to go home to,
His wife's waiting arms,
The laugher and giggles of his children,
A warm fire to sit next to,
A family worth all the money in this world,
Now the years have passed,
Like the raindrops that fill the ocean,
Now a grandfather telling stories,
To his grand children on his lap,
His children all grown up,
Each a picture of their hard working father,
Whose hands brought them closer,
To love...
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