Illustration by Scott Pendergraft
Shall I compare you to a summer’s day?
Gasol in sky shines warm upon us all;
I hope you play on past the month of May,
A Dirty Southern ‘rella at the ball;
Sometimes so high the Randolph Rainbow arcs;
Way up in heavens fly you, band of bears,
By grit n’ grind; You rub your stones for sparks
And through your work, delight us with your flairs;
No, you fine Memphis ballers shall not fade,
For Conley’s floaters have such lovely touch;
Nor shall Slim Reaper mark you with his blade,
For Tony Allen guards him in the clutch;
As Rob and Fab said, Grizz, you know it’s true:
Your grind is ours, Grizz: We give thanks for you!