All of these things
These thoughts these dreams
Left alone
Left behind
Who do they belong?
These dreams of love
Lost, buried
How I miss the touch
How we miss the love
Can’t afford the ache
Know to well the break
We look
We watch
We cheer from the stands
It seems so nice, the warmth of the hands
The touch, the touch
Sweet are these seasons…
These lost thoughts of love,
This springs sun,
I am sure will return,
A warm heart rises…
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