The Meadow

When I think of a new summer day,

I think of a lover so long ago.

I feel no sorrow or empathy,

Until the light winds begin to blow.

There were youthful times in the high grass,

When we frolicked as young lovers do;

But now when I recall all those memories

The meadow no longer calls to you.

Another lover has fancied my heart;

He's gathered a beautiful bouquet for me.

And now as lovers in the meadow

We fall in the high grass quietly.