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The perforated edges on my calendar are torn; 'Seems every twenty minutes another day is born. I seem to have an older face, the wonderment is gone; I'm closer to the sunset and further from the dawn. ""When I grow up..."" has come to pass; Now look upon the man; I've not become that football star I begin to understand. But turning eyes to what's ahead, There are dreams yet in my cup; There are men that I still want to be Someday... when I grow up.
Wes Stephenson

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