An Old Kind of Love
The smell of fresh green pine
Your hand in mine
We walk down a path lined with roses
I often wonder if this is love
You in a suit
I tie your tie
I in my Sunday best
an amber dress
We stroll along the cobblestone
My arm locked around yours
Street trumpets play French love songs
What is this feeling?
Time turns to dusk
You lead the way home
We kiss
This is love
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