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I opened Grandpa's tackle box, and there was his best fishing lure. Silver fish with the tail of a fox. It got a lot of use, that's for sure. He taught me to tie a fishing knot. A strong one that wouldn't break. He taught me to clean what I caught, and wash my hands in the lake. How to put a worm on a hook, and remove the fish when I got one. To release the small one I took and play the fish when they run. He showed how to cast a fly rod, with flies of feather and fur. Grandpa's gone but not forgot. Memories flow through that fishing lure. For the "Lure" contest

Copyright © | Year Posted 2012

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Date: 6/1/2012 3:30:00 PM
Never forget your thoughtful grandpa Christopher, lovely poem. - oxox Anne-Lise
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