Of course we all care! I'm so sorry for all the hardships and bad memories. I'm praying for you and will be awaiting you return in great anticipation.
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There's a dear little plant that grows in our Isle Twas St . Patrick himself, sure, that set it; And the sun of his labour with pleasure did smile, And with dew from his eye often wet it. It grows through the bog, through the brake, through the Mireland, and they call it the dear little shamrock of Ireland.
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