|
In the wake of the night, I fall asleep,
And dream of a time when you'll be with me, again.
I don't know when,
But it will be, again,
And I will see again.
Why do the passion flowers bloom for one night?
Then they shrivel up and die.
Why must our love mimic their unfulfilled ways?
Then I shrivel up and cry,
And cry, and cry, and then, again.
Time goes by in a whirl, and I must leave,
But there'll soon come a time when you'll be with me, again.
I don't know when,
But it will be, again,
And I will see again.
Now there's a passion flower laid in a grave,
Never more to grace my eye.
Someday I'll see you where that flower still blooms,
Never more to make me cry,
And cry, and cry, and then, again.
|
