New faces, freckles, the dimples and red cheeks;
Same dreams and high hopes, of Widow's and new peaks;
Young life, a nursery of mystery we still seek;
Old scars, like postcards of hard times we don't speak.

Long nights and door creek mark ending a cold streak;
Good times beginning with stream or a song leak,
Small World as time passes, short as a newsbreak
Tough crowd, yet, bravo, I'll still be here all week.








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