Oh, for the days of old,
I do pine today,
The stories are still told,
But they seem far away,
The laughing of a brook,
Soft petals of a flower,
They're pages in a book,
That fade more by the hour,
But I must not forget,
The things that are no more,
As on a shelf does sit,
An unlocked secret door,
Remember all the meadows,
The sunlight bright and clean,
The happiness and woes,
Of people now unseen,
So help me Lord, I promise,
To remember all the things,
From a lttle child's first wish,
To a butterfly's feathery wings.
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