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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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