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Remembrance is the book of memory,

From which we read our past in sentiency:

And we, each day another page consign,

Or from the ‘book’ some other time divine -

When woodland scents perfum’d the autumn’d air,

And country scenes were caught in camera stare -

Fond echo of a day I spent with you, and gladly

Walk again those steps anew.

Pray think no ill toward my word-ly art,

It warrants not a sigh or stiffened heart, but thy

Cheerful eye!

(Or may Heaven start to weep as

Many tears it holds stars!)

‘Tis in the celebration of that day, this ’memento’

In love and friendship wends its way.

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