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Like a photo in a sterling silver frame,
What I wouldn't give to keep things just the same.
My darling daughter,
Gould and me,
Performing songs for company.
Our little family safe, serene.
Will it all be gone at five fifteen?
Little Edie:
A sculptor shapes a lump of clay,
The poet pens a poem.
Miss Porter molds her girls to say,
Farmington's our home,
Yes, Farmington's our home.
[Thanks to silhouetteinbluex@gmail.com for lyrics]
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