Dan Fogelberg Sketches
Late in the summer
when the cottonwood dies,
and the hills are on fire with greenbottle flies,
and I'm still seeing reflections of me in your eyes--
and why did you leave
last summer?
Now the seasons are changing
from summer to fall,
and I've still got that picture hung on my wall,
and there's so much forgotten
and too much recalled--
and why did you leave
at all?
Standing beside you,
midwinter day,
hearts beating close together,
wishing that we'd find some way to make
that moment last forever.
Standing silent, laughing, breathing steam,
gazing down into a freezing stream,
I saw the face of a child,
I saw the face of a child.
