Just received an old poem from Lon Paul credited to Podraza that I thought would be a nice addition

It rested between the Ivory
That hung on Grandpa's wall
It's finally checked and yellowed
Like the tusks it helped to fall

It's barrel smooth and polished
From a hundred bearers hands
It reflected the light warmly
Like campfires flickering brands

The stock of English walnut
Chewed and clawed a bit
It still showed a trace of checkering
an a dent where a horn had hit

Stamped on the barrel lightly
Was a name and not much more
A single word "Jeffery"
"Jeffery .404"

If that rifle could only talk
And take us back once again
With grandpa in Africa
A time of Buffalo,Elephants and men

But that day has set it's sun
And the rifle speaks no more
Oh what I'd give for one last time
To hear it's mighty roar

Grandpa's "Jeffery"
His "Jeffery .404"