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The Song of the Old Mother
| I rise in the dawn, and I kneel and blow | | Till the seed of the fire flicker and glow; | | And then I must scrub
and bake and sweep | | Till stars are beginning to blink and peep; | | And the young lie long and dream in
their bed | | Of the matching of ribbons for bosom and head, | | And their day goes over in idleness, | | And they
sigh if the wind but lift a tress: | | While I must work because I am old, | | And the seed of the fire gets feeble
and cold. |
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By PanEris
using Melati.
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