Lucky for him he kept one arm stuck elbow deep in a jar of grace. Greedy little fingers his have always been...
Leopold Jeffries was a grave, grave man.
Had one foot in the grave for most of his life.
Trouble was, he had only one.
One leg? One life?
It’s all the same.
Lucky for him he kept one arm stuck elbow deep in a jar of grace.
Greedy little fingers his have always been.
Reaching down to the bottom of the jar to get the icky sticky.
And rightfully so.
With a tongue that nayed,
ears that betrayed,
eyes that deceived,
Grace would fill in the holes.
So he carried that great, big pickle jar wherever he went,
all but empty except for the brown muck stuck to the base.
He could hardly guess what it was,
Only knew it had to be better than what was out here.
To replace foul with fine,
yours and mine,
With something a little better than his.
Picking at the icky sticky,
Leopold Jeffries licked his fingers clean.
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