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The boy in me entangled
So many footsteps we cannot retrace
So many words
To make us what we were not before
So many places
And always behind us the gaping door
So many people
To stumble over in memory
Shrunken by the tragedy
Of their lost
And the boy moping
Exploits the man's emotions
But he cannot find again
This precious thing
In flight from him I lost
Copyright © David Smalling | Year Posted 2010
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