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Coat hoods draping their heads,
the sleeves flow loosely behind
while arms swing freely beside
and feet ziggy zag them ahead.

Weaving to find every puddle,
stomping and splashing along;
tongues stuck out for raindrops as
they slosh and splatter toward home.

Sometimes I wish I were still young,
Carefree as children in rain;
Whatever changed my focus
as I grew into older skin?

Is it dictated, written in stone
that work replace childish play?
Or are we merely paying today
for the freedoms of yesterday?

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