Loud, bordering obnoxious,
Smell of newports and bud,
He was caught up in a Colorado magazine-selling scam
he couldn't buy;
I found him hard to respect,
His comments about "my girl" I'd just met hit
a little close to home.
No saint I don't think,
Tired eyes, impatient mind, freckled worry lines
But he looked after his invalid grandmother four years
Adopted his crack-mom's daughter at 21, she was half his age,
And he faithfully loved his Lithuanian girl, couldn't wait to be back in her arms.
Maybe sometimes saints are like this.
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