| Must’ve been in late September
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| When last I climbed Reunion Hill
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| I fell asleep on Indian Boulder
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| And dreamed a dream I will not tell
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| I came home as the sun went down
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| One eye trained upon the ground
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| Even now I find their things
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| Glasses, coins, and golden rings
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| It’s ten years since that ragged army
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| Limped across these fields of mine
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| I gave them bread, I gave them brandy
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| But most of all I gave them time
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| My well is deep, the water pure
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| The streams are fed by mountain lakes
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| I cleaned the brow of many a soldier
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| Dousing for my husband’s face
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| I won’t forget our sad farewell
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| And how I ran to climb that hill
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| Just to watch him walk across the valley
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| And disappear into the trees
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| Along there in a sea of blue
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| It circles every afternoon
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| A single hawk in God’s great sky
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| Looking down with God’s own eyes
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| He soars above Reunion Hill
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| I pray he spiral higher still
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| As if from such an altitude
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| He might just keep our love in view |