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From the garden so bare –
                            No banyan tree there –
                          Clothed in its ermine gown,
                            To his mates on the hill
                          We can hear his shrill plea –
                             “Grandma, Grandpa,
                             Please come and see.”
                                A joy to hear
                              That spirit so dear.
                            We remember the joy,
                              The joy in his face,
                         The smile, the look in his eye –
                                    So,
                           Till the next time they see
                              That spirit so free,
                          Till the next time they hear
                              That spirit so dear,
                              They’ll be waiting,
                            Those folks on the hill.















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