Last Rites
Dead in the cold, a song-singing thrush,
Dead at the foot of a snowberry bush--
Weave him a coffin of rush,
Dig him a grave where the soft mosses grow,
Raise him a tombstone of snow.
Dead at the foot of a snowberry bush--
Weave him a coffin of rush,
Dig him a grave where the soft mosses grow,
Raise him a tombstone of snow.
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