Again... not about the boys

If you want to know about my kids, don't read this. I just found this poem from Chad and Eric. Disgustingly sweet.


The sweet smell wafting to my nose
Is that of Staton, Leah Rose.
You smell like pie, and fresh cut grass
Your loving eyes, they kick my ass.
They twinkle like a shining star
Your elbows are like a brand new car.
They bend so well and look real neat.
Now let us go on to your feet.
Good for walking and jumping, too.
Now we'll talk of how you poo.
Sitting, pushing, grunting, groaning
Sometimes, even hear you moaning.
Okay, We're sorry, that was gross.
We'll let you pinch us in the noce.
We're your friends and love you dear.
Your 21, it's time for... fear.
A scary age, you're on your own.
Just remember, you're not alone.
You know your friends are always here
To hook you up with some... cheer.
We'll make you happy, there is no doubt.
Even when you've got the gout.
This poem is long, it's end is near.
One last word that rhymes?
BEER!

Love, Chad and Eric