Wednesday, January 11, 2012
Johnny St Pierre, the man from Maine
when he got drunk, a loadmouth pain
A woodsman, a forrester, a great farmer
as a freind, could not find one warmer
He raised a fine daughter through thick and thin
He knew all along, love would win
allthough never wealthy, he embarced life
Johnny always had a smile, no matter the strife
when John had an opinion, he would never bend
He would argue his point, end on end on end
Without John , the world may be a quieter place,
but not a better place, sans his smiling face.
Rick Socha
