I think of you often, I'm almost certain not a day goes by that I don't think about you.
I wonder where you would be living, what you would be doing.
I close my eyes and I see that smile, the loving and warm smile that could heal any hurt.
I hear your voice, encouraging and caring, your words could move the hardest heart to tears.
You were a caring, loving, wonderful man, and I still cry and I wonder why?
I know you were hurting, I know you were tired, but why?
I miss you Tio Paul.
You are always in my heart....
His talent was as natural as the pattern that was made by the dust on a butterfly's wings. At one time he understood it no more than the butterfly did and he did not know when it was brushed or marred-Ernest Hemingway