The 18th

Her head is low and hands are stressed.

Her hazel eyes are turning black.

The man she loves is flying west;

No ticket bought for coming back.

I don't know what to do or say

As she is crumpling her heart.

Can anyone erase the day

When those who love are meant to part?

Can anybody stop the plane,

Prevent its wings from gaining height,

So that she doesn't hope in vain,

And look so sad, and cry at night?

Can anybody fold the map,

So distant countries unite

And she can overstep the gap

That has erased her former light?

Can anybody wiser be

Right here, right now? - A firmer voice

To finally explain to me

How do I make her heart rejoice.

For Dasha with all my love and care

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