By Karen Beishuizen
How shall I wail, that wasn’t meant for weeping?
Love has run and left me, oh, what then?
Dream, then, I must, who never can be sleeping;
What if I should meet Love, once again?
What if I met him, walking on the highway?
Let him see how lightly I should care.
He’d travel his way; I would follow my way;
Hum a little song and pass him there.
What if at night, beneath a sky of ashes,
He should seek my doorstep, pale with need?
There could he lie, and dry would be my lashes;
Let him stop his noise and let me read.
Oh, but I’m gay, that’s better off without him;
Would he’d come and see me, laughing here.
Lord! Don’t I know I’d have my arms about him,
Crying to him, “Oh, come in, my dear!”
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