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Years ago, when I was four, (Though memory's kind of dim), I climbed inside my Daddy's shoes And tried to be like him. With shoes as long as I was tall 'Took all I could to slide The one before the other then; I stumbled, though, with pride. The things he liked I learned to love, His hobbies then were mine; ""Who wants to take a ride with Dad?"" I led the lengthy line. A lover of the great outdoors, He probed it's depth and height; He found upon the barest hill Some cause for great delight. A craftsman in a dozen fields, His hand took well to tool; Educated far beyond The years he spent in school. A man who thought beyond the ""now"" With principles and laws; Any man can see effects, He sought to know the cause. He labored hard, but not for self; His time was often spent Helping others build a dream Or straighten what was bent. His humor sparked a million fires That warmed another's chill; And now I think about those shoes I hoped someday to fill. Near six-foot-four he filled the door, I grew to six-foot-two; Then I stopped, close but not Enough to fill his shoes. But that's alright, I'll reach a height That few have ever had; 'Cause my own shoes are set upon The shoulders of my Dad.
Wes Stephenson

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