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Here is a nice one about boys.
WHAT IS A BOY ?
Between the innocence of babyhood, and the dignity of manhood we find a
delightful creature called boy. Boys come in assorted sizes, weights and
colours, but all boys have the same creed: To enjoy every second of
every minute of every day, and to protest with noise, (their only
weapon), when their last minute is finished, and the adult males pack
them off to bed at night. Boys are found everywhere. On top of,
underneath, inside of, climbing on, swinging from, running around, or
jumping to. Mothers love them, little girls hate them, older sisters and
brothers tolerate them, adults ignore them and heaven protects them.
A boy is truth, with dirt on its face, beauty with a cut on his finger,
wisdom with bubble-gum in his hair, and the hope of the future, with a
frog in his pocket. When you are busy, a boy is an inconsiderate,
bothersome intruding jangle of noise. When you want him to make a good
impression, his brain turns to jelly, or he becomes a savage sadistic
jungle creature bent on destroying the world and himself with it.
A boy is a composite. He has the appetite of a horse, the digestion of a
sword swallower. The energy of a pocket sized atomic bomb, the curiosity
of a cat. The lungs of a dictator, the imagination of a Walt Disney. The
shyness of a violet, the audacity of a steel trap. The enthusiasm of a
fire-cracker and when he makes something, he has five thumbs on each
He likes ice-cream, knives, saws, Christmas, comic-books, the boy across
the street. Woods, water,(in it's natural habitat), large animals, Dad,
trains, Saturday mornings and fire-engines. He is not much for Sunday-
School, company, schools, books without pictures, music lessons,
neckties, barbers, girls, overcoats, adults, or bed-time. Nobody else is
so early to rise, or so late to supper. Nobody else gets so much fun out
of trees, dogs and breezes.
Nobody else can cram into one pocket: a rusty knife, a half eaten apple,
three feet of string, an empty Bull-Durham sack, two gumdrops, six
cents, a sling-shot, a chunk of unknown substance, and a genuine
supersonic code ring, with a secret compartment.
A boy is a magical creature. You can lock him out of your workshop, but
you can't lock him out of your heart. You can get him out of your
study, but you can't get him out of your mind. Might as well give up. He
is your captor, your jailer, your boss, your master. A freckle-faced,
pint-sized bundle of noise. But when you come home at night with only
the shattered pieces of your hopes and dreams, he can mend them all like
new again, with two magical words:
Lyric to the background song.
are grey skies
His name is DEVIN CORNELIUS STULTS (Video of Devin) Right click and say play
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