Granddaddy shoots with your rifle gun most every day. He can hit a string like he used to, but he would not shoot a apple off my head like a man did in the book that had about Joan of Arc in it, although I wanted him to.
I have ritten a piece of poetry like Mr. Eugene Fields did, and this is it
The cold may make my lips turn blue,
But it can't freeze my love for you.
Your happy and loving little friend
Smiles.
Commonwealth Avenue
Boston, Massachusetts.
October 24, 1912.