Young people
In old wooden houses
I see your face
Behind that cup
Under those locks
It makes me blush

Secret fields
In the back; you
Float in that dress
And the sun bathes us in gold

I like how smooth you are
Our faces in the grass with
clasped hands to the sky

When it's night
The old light will drip
We can catch it and
I'll wish for you to stay

The wind blows on his blustery days
Sometimes the rain falls
Maybe some snow in the winter
But always, young people
In old wooden houses
Blush at each other