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Hand in his hands through the park
All afternoon
A fine
day to fly balloons or tell him a story
Hand
in his hand to wonder
Till
day is done
Sunday
father and son
Sundays
are theirs to explore
Alone
by law
One day
to keep the two from turning to strangers,
One to
know the answers
Be firm,
be fun
Sunday
father and son
The father
weaves through the weekend streets
Sunday
alone, Monday comin’ on
He leaves
the child by a modest home
That
they share no more
With
the woman who waits indoors
Till
she knows he's gone
Where
are the words or the games
A place
to go
Someway
to let him know you want to be with him
Somehow
it's always ending
Just
half begun
Sunday
father and son
Sunday
father and son
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