Don'T Shame Our Glory

Decaying figures, fragile and forlorn, on wobbly limbs which maybe feeble be. With grateful pleas we greet each glowing morn, then to those youthful times our yearnings flee. Abreast, we viewed the river sweep along when swallows built their nests in our beechwood Mine was a husky sound and yours a song In squall or sol, companions faithful stood. Yet, our once charming wonder shall not fade, nor lose the fondly memoirs we create. Thus, though are skins now favor pleasant shade, our spirits breathe to reconcile with fate. To weep for us would do our glory shame, for it still lives, that strong unwav’ring flame.