All I can say is: Sorry,
that she died without my name.
Now, I'll tell you the whole story
and where I would place the blame.
It's not true, what some are saying,
that I failed to heed her plea.
I was serving in the army
far away across the sea.
When her letters turned more somber,
The image of a young girl
emerges out of the casket…
Up, out of the ground
The divine dancefloor,
there to be approached
By her young admirer
A girl of all the beauty
that he could see,
Dancing with another,
alone and waiting—
just for him.
Twirling and turning
to turn his head….
A rare, rare thing is first love
And, should it come to you,
it is your duty to live it!
That’s what the smile in her eyes
So,why do I love you?
You're really not like me!
You look different—you are different—
as anyone can see:
Your skin's a different shade,
or your hair's in a different braid,
Or your eyes and your face show that
you were born in a different place.
We don't talk the same: We use different
Death's not the victor, after all;
the equinox comes as a scold;
Life cracks the ground in shades of green,
throws off the lethargy of cold,
And wakesand grows from fertile seeds,
aroused from dormant winter's night
When dark was tantamount to death
and hope lay idle, out of sight.
Living on the boarder between
Valentine Day and despair,
Looking back, then on ahead,
always to find you there.
Back to those old memories
too fond for me to lose,
On to daily fantasies,
too many from which to choose.
But here, still on the border,
I hesitate, alone: