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From the Rock Island Argus, July 23, 1914.

His head was bald and wrinkles hung
    In folds beneath his chin;
But, fancying his look was young,
    He drew his waist-band in.

His shoulders drooped, his step was slow,
    His sight was growing dim;
He thought the knowledge of it, though,
    Belonged alone to him.

I did not tell him that I knew,
    Nor hint that I could see;
It may be that some morning you
    Will be as kind to me.

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