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Your form now is bentAnd your hair is tinged with grey,And there's furrows on your once smooth brow,But your eyes still are brightAnd your voice still is sweetAs when you pledged to me that solemn vow.
Old mem'ries stir our hearts,Old songs recall the scenesThat we both would fain forget,But when we think of the presentAnd the ones that we have chosen.We find there is nothing to regret.




DUKIE BOY. (Died Aug. 11, 1889.)
He was only a horse!Just a horse, you know,But always faithfulAnd ready to goThrough all weathers,Cold or warm.He carried his masterAnd through many a storm.
Only a horse!It seems so queerPerhaps to youThat I shed a tear;But I do,I cannot help it,We miss him so!
Only a horse!Good faithful friend,No one overYour grave will bend:Quietly you restIn the wood, alone,Naught marks the spot.Not even a stone.
But we'll not forget you.Good, tried Duke,What care I, ifThey do rebuke,And say why cryFor a horse?Does nobody care?

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