Those letters that I wrote you That read the words I never said About the times we spent together Things we could have done instead
Recalling dreams of living easy The sound of songs we made our own With all the living possibilities On many roads we shared alone
Walking high roads and the low roads Climbing rugged mountain slopes Taking weather as it always is Wherever next that kept our hopes
Leaving remnants of our storyline In the orchards of our days Written in the minds of left behinds Who shared our long hot summer days
Many well meant conversations Every wistful heartfelt sigh Driven on by hopes of no regrets To write that final line goodbye
Remembering Peter Sarstedt's lovely Valentine song
"Oh the play goes on, But the meaning's gone And it looks as though we're running out of endings. And the maddening thing is, That while everybody worries ; No one seems to do a thing about it."