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Old Dog With A Young Dog's SouIt doesn't seem like long ago
You'd bounce and bark and play
Tail spinning in the air
The joy of puppy shining in your eyes
Could it be that happiness just never fades
Or that it really was just yesterday?
I see you slowing down though,
Your bounces aren't as high, your bark not as loud
The spinning tail no longer threatening to lift you off
But I look in your eyes, and still see the puppy there
You're an old dog now
With a young dog's soul.
A day of play, when you were young
Would wear me out faster then you
Now you're done before I am
But that's okay to me
My old dog
With a young dog's soul.
I know that soon we will have to part
And your young dog's soul will be free again
To run and bark and play
With the other young dog souls
At the Gates of Heaven
But before we get that far, I've something I'd like to ask
When you finally do see me, walking up that path
And in your barking leaping joy, when Saint Peter opens u
Machine Magican Ch1The small craft moved quietly thorough the stillness of space, not because it was trying to hide but because there's no sound in space. In fact, the craft had no need to hide, it had already been spotted. The pilot pushed the craft faster, magically propelling it closer to the small asteroid field up ahead he had spotted shortly before being set upon by the three fighter crafts.
They were bounty hunters, after the pilot. And not the first to set on him as soon as he came out of a Jump. Major jump points were well known and in some systems small clusters of randomly moving junk and derbies made jumping to any location other then the prescribed and constantly cleared jump zones hazardous at best.
Showing an amount of skill the other pilots hadn't thought the fugitive had he dropped his craft into the dangerous area of moving rocks. The high levels of heavy metals in the rocks means they must also risk collision with one to keep track of him, if he gets out of sight he just might risk ano
Bo.When Lindsay was born, Bo was there. Standing beside her mother, he was the first thing she ever saw. But he was not her father; her father stood on the other side.
Bo was there until the very moment she died.
The sun shone bright through the windows of her pink-laden room. She loved pink. And black.
“Because Bo is black,” she’d told her parents.
Her imaginary friend, they soon concluded.
“Bo is all black,” she described one night as her father tucked her in, “His skin and his hair and everything. He doesn’t talk a lot.”
Her father frowned.
“He sounds scary.”
“He’s not,” she insisted.
Bo sat on the bed and said nothing.
Her father kissed her good night and turned out the light.
“Why can’t Dad see you?” she asked.
“Are you real?”
“Are you real?” he replied.
“How do you know?”
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