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When I got old I though a lot
Of the things that all went in the pot
That made the soup that I"ve become
Witch I never dreamed of when I was young
Fortune chance a run of luck
Have formed my life from natures muck
And still I dream of futures grand
Where in a noble place I"ll stand
I"ll take my bow and fade away
Or maybe live another day
2 comments:
Amen to that, we never seem to end up where we once thought we were going.
good one, Dean
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