Young Prince

November 3, 2009
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Wiggling toes,
dirt in between.
Come alive young boy,
at the heart of the scene.

Dirt under your nails,
crusty and brown,
sewn up skin,
pick up your crown.

March up to the steps,
in your limp walk.
They'll bow to the ground
when you start to talk.

Our young prince is home.
Let's have no fear,
We're no longer lost!
He's here to steer.

Brush the dirt off your shoulder.
Open up your eyes.
See all their smiles.
They're happy you're alive.

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