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sympathy poem

i love the old melodious lays
i cannot always feel his greatness
the body may confine
somewhere i read a strange, old, rusty tale
i hold your heart
all those treasures that lie
sitting in his rocker waiting for your tea
i have cast the world
our pleasant moments fly
did you ever hear of
which keeps
eighty years have passed, and more
i saw the first pear
the saddest of the year

 



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