Perhaps she's not the beauty now that she once used to be
And I may not recognize her today if her I see
Her hair was as dark as the wing of a crow
And her eyes as blue as the ripe November sloe.
She was older than me by ten years or so
And I only knew her just for to say hello
And I was young then twelve going on thirteen
And to the ways of life one might say quite green.
So beautiful and graceful and stylish and tall
And I had a crush on her I do recall
I felt so very awkward when her I did meet
Just a shy hello in passing on the street.
So little of life's ways then I did seem to know
For that is going back some fifty years ago
When she left town I never see her again
Yet in my memory young she still does remain.
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