in the silver morning hollow
trembling and getting old
smelling burnt oil of heaven
about ten years too big to hold

she don't get up when i come into the room
she don't run through the fields anymore

built a fire in the kitchen
made her bed by th' stove
took a walk to the graveyard
but she didn't want to go

she don't worry all them murders of crows
even though they was always out of reach

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