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I cannot tell why, But the rustling of grass, As the summer winds pass Through the field where I lie, Bring to life a lost day, Long ago, far away, When in childhood I lay Looking up at the sky And the white clouds that pass, Trailing isles of grey shadow Across the gold grass. . . O, the dreams that drift by With the slow flowing years, Hopes, Memories, tears, In the rustling grass. |