I'm as restless as a willow in a windstorm. I'm as jumpy as a puppet on a string. I'd say that I had spring fever. But I know it isn't spring. . I am starry-eyed and vaguely discontented.
The hills are alive with the sound of music. With songs they have sung for a thousand years. The hills fill my heart with the sound of music. My heart wants to sing every song it hears.
I'm as restless as a willow in a windstorm. I'm as jumpy as a puppet on a string. I'd say that I had Spring fever. But I know it isn't Spring. . I am starry-eyed and vaguely discontented.