she weaved a tapestry of notions for me
on the lower level of grand central station
it had rained that night
my jacket retained its damp warmth of summer storm
we ran down the long ramp
past the times square express
to that bench
where she sits tonight
weaving dreams
and avidly talking to friends
by the track where we used to catch the train
to that sleepy little town with the apple orchard
and blueberry farm
near hartford

we had wandered all night along the wet humid streets
and talked about everything under the sun
and a few things over it too
just holding hands and walking
laughing and whispering

i was a young man
you were a young woman
we had the world at our feet
we were everything to eachother
under the sun
and a few things over it as well

tonight she weaves a tapestry of notions for me
in the lower level of grand central
while i rock my childs crib in the bahamas
she talks to her friends
who allways are sitting just there
tho they have all long since gone
her imagination they are allways there
the notion is that no matter where you go
you will allways be loved