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There's a book,
Sitting on the sidewalk,
Old and Moldy,

Achild ponders and finds the book,
He's poor says he's raged clothes,
He's elated
He didn't care if the book was old nor moldy.

He read and read,
He became successful,
He didn't need the book anymore,
So he took a walk.

Placed the book on the sidewalk,
The same place he once found it,
And he walked off,
Once again the book was lonely, old, and forgotten.

We are like the book sometimes,
Left down and ugly,
But someone wants you,
But may forget you like the first.

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