| The book I bought yesterday
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| I started to read
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| I found a small marigold
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| Pressed between leaves
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| And in that small marigold,
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| Well, I found a note
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| Saying, «Please won’t you write to me
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| 'cause I’m so alone»
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| So I’m going to write back today
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| Yes, I’m going to write right away
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| I started «Dear Marigold,»
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| Not knowing her name
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| «I just had to write to you
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| 'cause I feel the same
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| «You sound like the marigold
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| That I found today
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| The beauty was there to be found
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| But fading away
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| «So I’m writing to you today
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| Yes, I’m writing to you right away
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| As I started writing,
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| Well what can I say
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| I got to thinking
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| Where are you today
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| Brown leather cover,
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| Ripped, tattered, and torn
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| It’s been such a long, long time
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| Since the flower was born
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| There’s no need to write back today
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| I’m not going write right away
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| Just like a swan she is gliding,
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| Drifting from here unto there
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| She has no thoughts of dying,
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| Winter does not mean despair
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| Warm summer nights left behind her,
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| Thinking of things that she’s done
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| Once were her friends all around her,
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| But now she is only one
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| Swan, swan keep your feet off the ground
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| Keep flying around
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| It’s lonely you’ve found
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| You were left on your own
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| You didn’t do right
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| Not to take off and fly
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| When your friends left that night
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| Chorus
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| Someday I know you’ll see something
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| That will bring back the memories of gold
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| You’ll meet the friends that did leave you
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| No more to be left in the cold
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| And just like a swan you’ll be gliding,
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| Drifting from here unto there
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| You’ll have no thoughts of dying
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| 'cause winter did not mean despair |