My Sorrow, when shes here with me,
Thinks these dark days of autumn rain
Are beautiful as days can be;
She loves the bare, the withered tree;
She walks the sodden pasture lane.
Her pleasure will not let me stay.
She talks and I am fain to list:
Shes glad the birds are gone away,
Shes glad her simple worsted gray
Is silver now with...
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How's packing going?
Good to get your IM name!