It was the middle of spring
when our love took root,
I had tears rolling down my cheek,
he had a smile that said he knew.
His arm was around my shoulder,
and mine around his waist,
clutching tightly to a fold on his shirt,
this was how we walked down the lane.

It was the beginning of summer
and like the blazing sun,
our passion bloomed,
days together, hours with each other
even time grew lazy with us two.
His arm was around my shoulder
and mine was around his waist
clutching tightly to a fold on his shirt,
this was how we walked down the lane.

Towards the end of autumn
leaves began fall,
our foreheads often wrinkled,
in harsh tones we began to talk.
He had plans, and I had a dream,
he was stubborn as I had ever been.
Our silences drew longer,
our worlds a shade apart,
when we did meet halfway,
the resentment followed fast.
His arm was around my shoulder
and mine was around his waist
clutching tightly to a fold on his shirt,
this was how we walked down the lane.

It was on one winter morning
that he finally left,
he carried his dreams,
on proud shoulders,
leaving behind a cold bed.
His arm was around my shoulder
mine around his waist
clutching tightly to a fold is his shirt
I wept as I saw
our photograph;
a reminder of our days.