I wish it had been you
That had sped the plough
And sowed the seed
And harvested the soul
Of my memories of you
But alas it is I
To lay my hand upon your furrowed brow
And wash the aching loss of a grieving heart
It is the nurse and doctor and I and you and my brother, sister, father and lover …
that speeds the morphine,
that slows the heart,
to ease the pain of love torn apart
I wish it had been you
But it is me it is you and you and you
That plants the ground,
Upon which love grows.
I wish it had been you.
I wish it had been you.
I wish it had been you.
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