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After whatever mortal part that you have seen of me is gone,
Don't linger mid the indexed rows of marble stones,
Where cold statistics mark the place of moldering bones.
Wherever I may be -- I shan't be there.

But rather seek the altar of the church I loved,
Or where a bubbling kettle sings a song of home,
Or cheerful hearthfire frees the burdened heart from care,
I think that you will find me there.

Janice Parry


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