I still remember times long, long ago,
Of light, green grass,
And clouds all softly white.
The nightingale’s sweet voice led dreamer’s soul,
And pale moon shined her face all through the night.
The hills were painted yellow by the dawn,
With marigolds and daffodils in bloom.
They sang to me their blissful, joyous song,
My heart sang back my merry, carefree tune.
And now I sit within these concrete walls,
That bar that joyful past from present day.
My heart hears not the song of dusky halls,
I wonder if to sing, this is the way.
My spirit wanders dreams of singing hills,
My soul will cling to melancholy trills.