I felt eternal summer there
And ran my fingers through your hair;
And though I can't recall what for
I'd hang my camera on the door.

I locked my books with bits of string,
In a land where telephones do not ring,
And opened my windows up to hear
The babbling of students and tourists near.

I remember buying a pencil, light blue,
And drawing a picture, to give to you,
Which remains in my wallet, and when I see it I laugh
Because I drew it on the back of an old photograph.

I regret never dipping my toe in that stream,
And taking my tea without sugar or cream;
But I wish I did not uproot grass by the bunch,
And maybe then I wouldn't miss it so much.