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exexec · 70-79, C
When I was a teenager, I read this poem by Thomas S. Jomes:
Across the fields of yesterday
He sometimes comes to me,
A little lad just back from play --
The lad I used to be.
And yet he smiles so wistfully
Once he has crept within,
I wonder if he hopes to see
The man I might have been.
Across the fields of yesterday
He sometimes comes to me,
A little lad just back from play --
The lad I used to be.
And yet he smiles so wistfully
Once he has crept within,
I wonder if he hopes to see
The man I might have been.