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
Dec 27, 2018
Dec 27, 2018 at 11:12 PM UTC
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."
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