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Harder Shall They Be

When I was a child, I wished to grow old.
For there were quite many things that I was told.
Now tell me. Who likes to do
Always as he is told to?

The fragile head of infinite curiosity
Which knew no bounds
The tender soul, always directed
He wished for crowns.

For a crown or two would have been quite nice.
A king did what he wished.
He sought what he did not have
The curious mind of eight.

The little feet grew
They held more weight
Of fat, bones, muscles and responsibilities
Of memories and loss
Of goals painted gloss
Of fragmented luxuries and hard felt necessities
The tender feet have hardened

Harder shall they be by the end.

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