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Good-Bye, Boots

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Good-Bye, Boots

Here I sit, so deeply grieved

By the passing of a man I’ve always believed

The best illustrator and funny bone baiter

Of our lives and experiences weaved


His cards I’ve gotten, more often bought

To commemorate times with a funny thought

He solicited laughs through life’s little gaffes

And for that, I thank him a lot


Whether a fence line fallen when least expected

Or changing a tire when a griz is detected

Or the silly commotion of hunters in motion

In ways we are truly reflected


He painted on canvas his scenes out of mind

His life and ours, luckily entwined

Through human traits and common fates

In ways our butts tend to get in a bind


His stage always nature, mostly human

Where the backdrop showed us some trouble loomin’

His rewards were guffaws as we clucked at our flaws

Especially when wing nuts were bloomin’


He harvested smiles wherever he went

Delivered in person or even in print

He was always on par with his jocular char 

His mind being some kind of flint


I caught him one day on Good Mornin’ Northwest

Where they had him on board as a special guest

And he proceeded to roast his naive young host 

For at roastin’ he was nigh on the best


I’ll always miss him, this man of mirth

For his soul is truly of this earth

He put us in color, one way or another

And for that, I am grateful his birth


And I’ll miss the new cards not coming our way

To make us giggle after a long hard day

What could’ve come makes my mind go numb

With the loss of his cowboy way


I’ll miss his stories of Chipmunk Falls

Of life in the country, the way that it crawls

Like a human prospectus, it was used to reflect us

From mountain to paddock and stalls


I’ll miss most of all, his offer of fishin’

A chance to go back is what I am wishin’

And relish this friend, lend both ears to bend

With his wisdom, guidance and vision 


If the mark of a man be his epitaph

Let his read that he made us all laugh

Through the blood and the beer, he held up a mirror

Knowing full well how we loved a good gaffe


If I had to give measure 

To this western treasure

Then let it be said it never went to his head

And he’s always been our distinct pleasure

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Author info

Scott Clawson Scott Clawson No, he's not the electrician, he's the OTHER Scott Clawson, who's a quality builder when he's not busy busting a gut while writing his humor column for the first issue of each month, or drawing his Acres n' Pains cartoons.

Tagged as:

Boots Reynolds, Acres n Pains

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