Tuesday, August 7, 2007


Old Andy, the handyman,
Does the best job he can
In his shop on the cobblestone street.

He repairs old wheelbarrows,
Builds traps to catch sparrows,
And half-soles shoes for numerous feet.

He solders leaky old pails,
And with glue, screws and nails
Can fix anything made out of wood.

Can fine-tune a lawnmower;
Fix a sick snow blower
So it slings slushy snow as it should.

He can oil up old leather,
Long exposed to weather,
Till it's supple and soft, just like new.

He'll fix a bicycle brake,
And, in a jiffy, make
Most machines do what they're built to do.

He seldom will question why,
But most jobs he'll just try,
Though some may seem quite trifling and small.

He can install a new latch,
And even re-attach
The arm of a small sobbing child's doll.

At times, he's re-glued old books,
Sharpened dull fishing hooks,
Once re-wove my old trout-fishing creel.

The last of a dying breed
He's filled many a need
Helped keep many lives on even keel.

As his steps now grow more slow,
Seems the townsfolk all know
Time will soon come for him to move on.

His loss we surely will feel.
We all wonder how we'll
Get on without Andy when he's gone.

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