As main man in the organization,
Franks’ efforts let to many a roller revelation.
While all this number stuff remains a mystery,
Frank is a master of the pigeon pedigree.
Many a competition day,
Up long before the crack of dawn.
Many a cup of coffee,
To fight the urge to yawn.
Who knows how many birds,
This man has judged and bred, or how many he has flown.
Why I swear before Allah,
His birds blood is to be found in some of my own!
He got our club together,
And kept things running straight.
And at each pigeon fly,
Always there, never late.
An example for all the members,
And a model for us all,
This man I’ll always remember,
As a rollerman standing tall.
Most truly do love these birds,
And for some of us the pigeon,
Is the closest thing to God,
This side of religion.
But finally a condominium conflict,
Got far too out of hand,
And messed with Frank’s flying program,
And so he took a stand.
So even though many a local rollerman,
Would be made to grieve,
Frank’s mind had been made up,
To the Bigfoot country he would leave.
There to fly his birds in peace,
Unaffected by the city’s crush.
To commune with nature on ten acres of his own,
And to never have to fight the rush.
The fact that he moved to Red Rock, Texas
Shows he had true grit.
A rollermen to the core he’ll ever be
He’d rather fight than quit..!