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A Poem by: Larry Buckelew 
Some are born butt naked, Others covered with hair. And stages inbetween, Not coated, not bare. Each tiny heart, that beats in your palm, is powering a crestie, some crazy, some calm. You see their characters developing, with each passing day. Especially when sight comes, and they start to play. Jumping and turning, chasing in team. And once they get their teeth, they learn how to scream. We cringe when we hear them, practice killing each other. And then laugh when we realize, she's beating her brother. |