Chuck

Chuck

In the quiet lane where the old oak leans,
Chuck ambles slow, his well‑worn boots a creak,
He tosses a stone into the gurgling stream,
Watching ripples chase the sunrise’s gleam.

His laughter rolls like distant thunder low,
A hearty chuck that shakes the village’s glow,
From market stall to the cottage’s hearth,
Chuck’s warm presence grounds the mirth and mirth.

When twilight drapes its violet shawl,
He settles by the fire, recalls it all—
The jokes he’s shared, the kindness he’s strewn,
A simple man, yet legend’s quiet tune.

So raise a cup to Chuck, the steady chap,
Whose steady chuck turns ordinary to snap.