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AM she who forgets not, The other women forget, and so they can be happy, But I am always wretched, because I must remember, And Memory is so sad.

I had a dream of Memory, Her two hands held two sorrows: One sorrow was a sword, A sword to pierce my heartstrings, The memory of my daughter, the little one who died. One sorrow was a snake, A snake to sting my bosom, The memory of the woman, who stole my husband’s love.

I am she who forgets not, And Memory is so sad!