A couple of Saturdays ago Abigail and I opened the blinds at around 6:30 a.m. to this:
I often tell her the story of how when you were young we would go outside and sing to thee moon every night before bed.
I see the moon and the moon sees me,
over the top of the apple tree,
please let the moon that shines on me,
shine on the ones I love
Love,
Sister
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