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August baby Helen Motro I am an August baby, a birthday girl whose big day stole by year in year out, while everyone was out of town. Marked only by cards from a faithful few, celebrated by a solitary ice cream cone, or two. I want to ask the other August boys and girls: Does the toll still crawl on inexorably even minus fanfare and cymbals? Or, if she pushes ahead unnoticed through the years does an August baby remain forever young?

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