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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