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A knotted Tarzan rope dangles From the same sycamore tree limb When I was a young, snot-nosed, devil-may-care adolescent. Nothing has really changed that much Since my time: the same swimming hole, Probably the same railroad spikes That I hammered into the trunk That we used as rungs to scale it. But it’s a very lonely place today. All my childhood buddies Are either dead or too infirmed To care; so here I stand alone Willing, but no one to play with.