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The early years were easy years of growth:

The energy of childhood’s spurt and spring;

Inventing new traditions like flasks and flowers

And finding fertile joy in everything.

The middle game seemed far more sweat than swot,

With sacrifice of threatened piece and peace,

The darkest night of Enterprise’s time,

All progress checked and pinned with no release.

And so the final reel, the transaction scene

Where money changes hands and with it lives,

All the bitter twisted limbo feeling

Of leaving, but not leaving still survives.

 

You found, you build, you inspire and grow,

But selling out costs more than you can know