Echos of Their Calling
Sitting under the tree
as raindrops are left falling
and through the woods still echo
the sounds of mother calling,
"Come home, come home
my little girl, my dear,
for the dark is falling
and there is much to fear."
Yet little girl never came
and clouds moved in,
quick was the storm that took her
and fast was it to thin;
and sitting under the tree
as from the leaves the rain drips
the little girl lays waiting,
under the earth that she did slip.
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