I always sketch our memories from a morning's first concert,
where a plethora of birds look beyond their sleepy eyes and
listen to the hearts, that burst wildly over the horizon gold.
You never minded, when I stare into your eyes of silver winter,
I can reference a moment further back in simpler centuries;
our incomparable feelings were not just drastically performed,
like an actor's precious final curtain call, but drawn from real
melodies between love's endless road to happiness and hello.
