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Memory of Mother.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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10

Memory of Mother.

The last time mother walked with me,
October skies were blue;
The grape-vine on the cherry tree,
Had found its autumn hue.
Her low combed hair was just the shade
Of ripened hazel burs;
The cheeks of yellow astrackans,
Were not more ripe than hers.
It seemed the mushrooms showed their caps,
To win her eyes of black;
And for one look into their depths,
The orchard boughs bent back.
A stalwart of the days gone by,
That soon the days should chill;
Dear ma, somewhere those eyes must wear
A gleam of summer still.