ALBA
Alba
When you arise from my old bed
The sun arouses the slumbering rose
And I remain frozen in longing repose.
You look back with a nod of the head.
The morn has me bereft.
Better you had never left.
Alba
When you arise from my old bed
The sun arouses the slumbering rose
And I remain frozen in longing repose.
You look back with a nod of the head.
The morn has me bereft.
Better you had never left.