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"For last year's words belong to last year's language, and next year's words await another voice. To make an end is to make a beginning." - T.S. Eliot.

Said the little boy, Sometimes I drop my spoon. Said the little old man, I do that too. The little boy whispered, I wet my pants. I do too, laughed the old man. Said the little boy, I often cry. The old man nodded. So do I. But worst of all, said the boy, it seems Grown-ups don't pay attention to me. And he felt the warmth of a wrinkled old hand. I know what you mean, said the little old man. Written by Shel Silverstein : The Little Boy and Old Man