In a spring afternoon, you I did behold,
Lost in a procession, feeling rather cold.
Your enchanting song, in the air it rang,
A stray bullet came, with a deadly pang.
When did these tired eyes close, I don't know when,
To see you no more, brought a sorrow then.
Lost in the crowd, of this endless tide,
Like a weary bird, by the river side, you reside.
From where does the scent of roses flow?
In you were verses, that the world didn't know.
In the final spring, under the spell of your sight,
Your magical gaze, made me "spellbound", oh so bright!