Wrote a poem in one of those little cabs in London as I was headed to Heathrow airport.
After a week of surfing, hunting, incredible food, and the best wine I have ever had in my life. The main takeaway is that I got to spend time with some extraordinary people.
The things these men have seen. Every time I think I have it bad and how hard I struggle to accomplish anything, I would take a moment and listen. The adversity that these men have faced and the pain that they have experienced to get where they are…
Poem:
Beneath brisk British skies in Buttermere, the blokes began,
Bumbling through brush, each the eight a brave but bungling man.
With whispers and whistles, they wandered wide,
Wearing wool jackets with pockets of pride.
Timothy Fred fumbled his pheasants, and fell in the fen,
While Bryan took a tumble again and again.
Laughing loudly, they leapt logs and ledges,
Leaving lost footprints along forest edges.
Though they hunted no hare, only pheasant, hen OR pigeon.
They found friendship and folly, and maybe much to adore.
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