The Story Is Written

This is about Frenchy Dubois, Who was a growing, lanky boy On a Christmas tree farm in Illinois The hero in a novel I wrote with joy-(D-7) The Story is about his plight, Being raised by a mean Uncle and looney Aunt Bruno and Aunt Viney, were always right Frenchy stayed away from their rant.- He took cover in his secret cave, Hidden by the weeds and brush on Salt Creek Put away in a rock-lined safe, His journal, he wrote in, every week So the story is written, It is in a box on my shelf Covered with slips of rejection Waiting to be discovered, void of myself- Stories about how his kin homesteaded this place Clearing the timber to make crop land Now, full circle, his dad, replaced corn with trees Frenchy was growing up, lending a hand In a few short years, and he became of age, The tree farm would be his per his dads will But until then, Bruno and Viney wrote every page And Frenchy could only dream of this thrill. So the story is written, It is in a box on my shelf Covered with slips of rejection Waiting to be discovered, void of myself.