The Last Train.

I wish the gentle wind that brings all things to you,
will bring all things, including me.
And I will dream of walking with you,
through foliage and forest and cobblestone paths;
through every scenery conceivable.

There may be some roses but not necessarily red.
There may be some music but not necessarily soft.
There may be wine but not necessarily sweet.
It may be an endless road we have to walk
But if we are lucky we might just find the end.
The last train will be there, the one bound for Paris.
We can ride together or we can simply stand
at he station and exchange immortal promises.

It does not really matter, station or Paris,
With you I’ll take any, or anything in between.

You only have to hold my hand.