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past

Past Carin

NOW up and down the siding brown
The great black crows are flyin’,
And down below the spur, I know,
Another ‘milker’s’ dyin’;
The crops have withered from the ground,

A Song Of Comfort

John McCrae

"Sleep, weary ones, while ye may --
Sleep, oh, sleep!"
Eugene Field.

Thro' May time blossoms, with whisper low,
The soft wind sang to the dead below:

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