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I do not remember exactly the day grandma died,

But do ten years have flied;

A beautiful garden appeared where she lied,

flowers bloomed, flowers withered.

I do remember the morning bells and evening blow,

That silent old man was busy with his tilling,

Or walked along the garden path slow.

A lily on the grave without saying.

He does remember, she does know,

The first glance and the last hands hold.

No words out of the lips flow,

But love has been told.