An old florist, dressed in black
Hands a white rose to a guy.
While the beggar pets a stray..
A bicycle falls by.

It’s the westerly winds again...
Rain peeking through the sunless sky…
Though everything is getting moist around..
It’s my heart that’s running dry..

There’ goes the artist’s beret
And the lil girl’s pink umbrella..
A child pays a sixpence..
To the friendly pretzel fella..

The street lamp winks
While it listens to the accordion..
Lovers falling in love again…
While I wait for my old companion

The sea isn’t getting any wetter with the rain…
Though my hands are  getting wrinkled and white…
Then the same old man in his mackintosh..
Comes into my old ,weary sight..

We just saw, gave a reserved smile..
Then I cursed the different ways I chose…
Yet he melted all my regrets…
And held out that white rose…