Young Love

On cold November days don't like to stray too far

Or even leave my bed, or put down my guitar

Or leave my master bedroom with it's view

Overlooking the mountains

On dark December days, I think of all my friends

From Washington to Maine, New York to Sweden

And how we've all grown closer with years

Or how we've grown apart

Icicles fall from my roof, burning stove, piles of firewood

Will we meet again in Cold Brook Park

In Cold Brook Park

On January days I walk into the town

Once or twice a day some peace out here I've found

My clothes are wet with rain and mountain mist

Oh how I love the quiet

When February rains I've gone another year

Chasing perfect poems and trying them in your ear

But I'm losing the will to chase them anymore

Across those lonesome oceans

Running deer stops at a fence, sniffing at the flowering iris

Will we meet again in Cold Brook Park

Cold Brook Park

Ghosts inhabit my mountain home

They don't frighten me, I sleep here alone

I shut out my friends, shut off the phone and

Late in the night I hear the echoes of young love

I walk downtown, saw her again

There on the corner, laughing with friends

The cool mountain air pinched her pink skin

And I walked on, aching with memories of young love

Youth walk by hand in hand

And there on the porch sits an old man

His back is tight, his splintered hands

And plain in his eyes, he envies the beauty of young love