From Seven Lively Arts
Every time we say goodbye I die a little.
Every time we say goodbye I wonder why a little,
Why the gods above me, who must be in the know,
Think so little of me they allow me to go.
When you're near there's such a joy of spring about it.
I can hear a lark somewhere begin to sing about it.
there's no love song finer,
But how strange the change from major to minor
Every time we say goodbye.
Every single time we say goodbye
From: Lynncw@aol.com
