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To ***** GRANDPA'S SHACK ***** I'm weary and spent from the endless toil: From the seething mass like swift water a-boil, From a world gone mad in it's race for gold, Where honor and virtue are cheaply sold; From the leers and the smiles that are vain and thin - Reaping the harvest of sorrow and sin -- I'm weary of life with its tinsel and shame... A make-believe life that's not worth the game... 'Tis then that I long for the solitude's quiet With the moon o'er head and stars twinkling bright. Where whispering zephyrs and cooling breeze, Awaken so gently the sleepy trees. I long for the silence - the peache at night - The moving shadows that come with the light And this I found without stint or lack.... When I followed the trail to "GRANDPA'S SHACK. ( LOU FLORMAN DIED MARCH 17th, 1937, on the desert near Barstow ( For, what is death but a sleep from which we ( shall awaken to a brighter day? ( This life is but the doorway to another life ( that has no end. ( John B McGroarty [[signature]] June (1st?) 1936