Sweetheart, before the year is through;
And we shall find so much to do,
So much to tell.
I read your letter through and through,
And dreamt of all we’d say and do,
Till in my heart the thought of you
Rang like a bell.
Now the bell tolls, my love, for you;
For long before the year is through
You’ve gone where there is naught to do
And naught to tell.
Yet mayn’t I find when life is through
The best is still to say and do,
When I at last may come to you,
All being well?
Contributed by Bernart Bartleby - 2014/4/24 - 15:35
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