If they ask me, I could write a book. About the way you walk and whisper and look. I could write a preface on how we met. So the world would never forget.
Once I was young. Yesterday, perhaps. Danced with Jim and Paul. And kissed some other chaps. . Once I was young. But never was naive. I thought I had a trick or two.
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.