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Do you remember that Shakespeare sonnet we read in school?
There was a line: 'Time's passage holds my youth in your swift feet.' Just now, as I passed by the old campus gates, watching students rush to their next class.
Their eager voices discussing tomorrow's lessons echoed in my ears. At that moment, those words finally made perfect sense.

I recall how our teacher explained that verse: we never truly value the present until it becomes the past we long to reclaim.
Lately, everyone's been sharing quotes from 'Dead Poets Society,' and I find myself unable to describe that feeling I had, standing at those crossroads.
In our youth, we only understood Thoreau's 'woods' as a simple escape to nature. Now I grasp the deeper meaning of 'I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately.'
Back then, we believed youth was endless and glory awaited just ahead. Now I understand the precious weight of Robert Frost's 'promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep.'
As the poets say, 'Youth's sweet-scented manuscript cannot be twice unfurled.'

Wordsworth once wrote, 'Though nothing can bring back the hour of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower.'
Late at night, when memories of childhood suddenly flood back, washing over me like waves of time,
I realize those forty-five minutes in class were their epic life stories,
Their unrealized dreams, their unspoken regrets, their unfulfilled destinies.

So it seems that all these profound truths of life,
The wandering paths we're destined to walk,
Were already written in their verses,
And we've slowly become living echoes of their words,
Though back then, we thought it all so ordinary.
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