The sky is blue at last,
And drift, small bird, in the outside
Where all at once, wonder,
And want to wander
Would cross that blossom face.
A quiet despair that,
Oh, since my half is spent,
But spent without you,
Knowing you'd never have been
If that time hadn't been wasted
Now wishing I'd known you'd be.
And the sky is blue at last,
So drift, small bird, in the outside
Where we might hope to fly.
