Saturday, January 4, 2003
Song Comments
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The bride, she wears a white, white rose -- the plucking it was mine;
The poet wears a laurel wreath -- and I the laurel twine;
And oh, the child, your little child, that's clinging close to you,
It laughs to wear my violets -- they are so sweet and blue!
...
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2/27/2026 8:05:52 PM # 1.0.0
