Sneed, feeder of my life, seeder of my loins. My gummy bears, my soil. Sn-ee-d: the tip of the shovel taking a trip of three digs down the dirt to tap, at three, on the PH. Sn. Ee. D. He was Sn, plain Sn, in the morning, standing five foot ten in one gucci loafer. He was Snee in overalls. he was Chuck at store. She was Sneed’s on the dotted line. But in my arms he was always Sneed’s Feed and Seed. Formerly Chuck’s.