The first word Is not aardvark It is a Yet that's what she remembers From our first day I realise of course Memories of me Grounded in forgotten days Are shadows that Will quickly fade away So few will remember Singing of the poets Or philsopher's peans As days pass And years come between Memories of me are doomed They will expire What little might remain Are written words of fire So we begin again With the words in order a, aa, aardvark What silly games they play aardwolf and Aaronic Whiling away their writing days
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This work is Copyright (c) Mike Fletcher 2005