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I think I saw you on the street in Amsterdam,
at a market holding flowers in your hand;
smiling easily, you made your way back home,
I stood on the cobblestones,
and watched you go.
Was it Paris on a sunny afternoon?
I remember that the gardens were in bloom;
waiting for a cab outside this little store,
I stood inside the painted door,
and watched you go.
Maybe London, late in autumn just last year?
I was thinking how I wished that you were here;
watching children playing football in the park,
I stood alone till it was dark,
and watched you go.
Now it’s winter in the hills of Tuscany,
I have my bicycle and books to comfort me;
still, there's moments when the day is nearly done,
I sit and watch the Tuscan sun,
and miss you so.
I guess I really don’t remember where or when
I realized that I won’t see your face again;
but there’s one thing that I’ve lately come to know –
no matter where I go,
you’re everywhere I go.
I think in April I will take the boat to Spain,
and haunt the streets of Barcelona once again;
and if I see you on some ancient avenue,
well, I'll just wish that it were true...
and watch you go.
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