My love carries a photograph In a locket made of silver That delicately hangs around her neck So precious to her is that Locket and its treasure of the Likeness of the man that she loves Often in the morning, she can be Found polishing with a Piece of silk taken from a dress she used to wear Seldom does an afternoon pass Where she can't be seen with The locket laying open in the palm of her hand And every night, before she sleeps She kisses her love and gently hangs The locket on the post of her bed My love carries a photograph In a locket made of silver And the likeness is not of me
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