My Grave
Bury me not too deep
For I would hear the rain
Sweep down the hill
When nights are still
And April comes again.
For I would hear the song
Whether I wake or sleep
Of blowing grass
And feet that pass—
Bury me not too deep!
For I would hear the rain
Sweep down the hill
When nights are still
And April comes again.
For I would hear the song
Whether I wake or sleep
Of blowing grass
And feet that pass—
Bury me not too deep!
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