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 All that was left us Was a chair we couldn't break, And the harp with a woman's head Nobody would take, For song or pity's sake.

The night before Christmas I cried with the cold, I cried myself to sleep Like a two-year-old.

And in the deep night I felt my mother rise, And stare down upon me With love in her eyes.

I saw my mother sitting On the one good chair, A light falling on her From I couldn't tell where,

Looking nineteen, And not a day older, And the harp with a woman's head Leaned against her shoulder.