Just for a little while I thought it was you
on an old blue bench in the park
there where the red stemmed willows grow –
it was that tilt of the head against the sky.

Oh there on that old blue bench in the park
sat someone one I took to be you
from the tilt of the head against the sky
and hair like yours, so smooth and dark

but when I got near (how I hoped it was you)
on a bench where red stemmed willows grow,
with that tilt of the head and hair so dark
it made me quite sure it had to be you

it soon became clear that it it could not be
for certainly your hair cannot be white,
and you cannot need a walking stick, why
it was only yesterday we danced all night.

No, no, your hair cannot possibly be white,
for just this morning it was smooth and dark
and surely it was yesterday we danced all night
yet for while I hoped it was you in the park.

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