Of long ago, my mem’ry has returned
to searching for a place my heart has yearned --
the spot I sat beside the brooklet’s flow.
My mem’ry has returned of long ago.
He stood on mossy stone, his flute in hand,
beside a brook in that enchanted land,
and played a tune for me, and me alone.
His flute in hand, he stood on mossy stone,
We neither of us spoke a single word,
the haunting melody was all I heard.
The breezes blew the notes with gentle stroke.
A single word, we neither of us spoke.
When he was done, he waved, then disappeared,
not knowing my poor heart he’d commandeered,
and left me with the mystery he had spun.
He waved, then disappeared when he was done.
It will be found, this magic place I seek,
for I remember well its sweet mystique.
A promise made, a vow that has me bound.
This magic place I seek, it will be found.
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