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like the shadow of a fly
She is evasive like the shadow of a fly
And she doesn't talk a lot at all
She's never been where she said she'd be
Nor is she likely to return a call
Since she is hardly ever present
She is a memory first of all
A memory of a promise
Of happiness postponed.
And yet I love to see her smile
Because her smile appears to tell me
All the things I would not dare
To hope to hear her say.
© Marcel Stoetzler