Her eyes are the color green you can't describe without a view
They soul speak of December leaning towards August's blue.
The girl, the choice, the time, oh it must be forty years.
as in my rear view mirror those same eyes now reappear.
I could tell her lots of things I have done as time sailed by
how I loved to watch the birds and wished I too could fly.
I could sing to her a lover's song if I only had a voice
or, maybe just to hold her hand would be a wiser choice.
Oh, tell me of forever, for me it remains an eternal drum
it beats an ancient rhythm underneath a burning sun
For each of us days are different,each a journey all our own.
But, for me her eyes remain among the sweetest I have known.