Young Love

On cold November days, don't like to stray in the park
 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 pires of fire
 Will we meet again, and grow (?)
 Or grow apart (?)
 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 days, 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 flower in absence (?)
 Will we meet again and grow (?)
 or grow apart (?)
 Old lonesome habit, my mountain home
 don't try to wake me, I'll sleep here alone
 I'll shut out my friends, shut off the phone
 Late at 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, against her pink skin
 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, splintered eave
 And plain in his eyes, he envies the beauty of young love