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First the whole world's mystery,
You seize the pieces nimbly,
Grow up, grow out,
Your life is yours,
As soon as you've finished your chores.

An inkling grows within your eye,
And soon a twinkling's standing by,
A child at heart's
A man in fact,
Now mind temper, timidity, and tact.

As grind and obligations grow,
You forget what you ought to know:
The taste of sun,
The joy of rain,
Your childhood's gone and life's to blame.

The rut of middle age is worn, and
Soon the young evoke your scorn.
Spite now, and anger
Take their turn,
And rather than share or help, you spurn.

Your recall faults like climbers' cleats
Slipped loose from craggy mountain peaks,
Grow in, grow old,
Start counting time,
You mourn your good old days and cry.

You say the good times never last,
You swear those ages not surpassed,
Damn dogs! Damn kids!
Why loud at play?
These are their future good old days.

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