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May 2014
I climb the stairs at night.
To hide myself out of sight.
I go to lay down in bed .
To rest my little head.
As I lay there I do hear .
Footsteps that do come near.
I know I'm not taking a nap.
But I do hear those feet that tap.
I know it's not my toys.
For what a joy it was my mom.
May 6th 1997 by Harold Hunt.
Written by
Harold r Hunt Sr  union sc
(union sc)   
413
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